


Half Agony, Half Hope

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Hurt Steve, M/M, Overhearing Conversations You're Not Supposed To, PTSD Elements, Panic Attacks, Past Bad Break Up, Past minor character death, Persuasion Fusion, Pining, Reunion, Romance, Schmoop, Slow Burn, Steve isn't from the 1940s, Tony POV, Tony isn't Iron Man, Woobie Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: Following the Battle of New York, the Avengers Initiative kicks into high gear under the leadership of Steve Rogers, i.e. Captain America. Tony didn’t mean to become part of this initiative, but it makes sense to sign on due to his experience with SHIELD and Rhodey’s War Machine suits.The upside: Tony’s tech can be used in a widespread and meaningful way to help protect people. The downside: the last time Tony saw Steve, he’d rejected Steve’s proposal of marriage and broke his heart, leading to almost ten years of the two having no contact whatsoever. Until now.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 692
Kudos: 1817





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   * This fic is set in an alternate universe where the Avengers still exist, but many MCU details have been remixed, including their relative ages.
>   * I consider this story as inspired by Jane Austen's Persuasion, rather than a full-on fusion, though mileage may vary.
>   * This story is tagged with "slow burn" because, much like Persuasion, despite Steve being a constant haunting presence in Tony’s thoughts, Tony and Steve’s interactions until the midway point are scattered and passive. Let's get down to some PINING.
>   * Many super thanks to flyingcatstiel for helping this fic come to be in the first place.
> 


Tony’s not nervous. He is calm and collected as he rides up the elevator, hands in his pockets and tinted glasses set on his nose.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” says Bruce. The elevator is large enough and strong enough to carry a loaded military jeep that’s armed to the teeth, so in theory Bruce could green out in here, but Tony would rather he doesn’t.

“Going into the main building, or joining the Avengers?” Tony asks.

“Both. But more on the second one.”

“You don’t actually have to. Just tell ‘em you’re having more fun hanging out with me next door. Which is true.”

“You think they would?” Bruce perks up, before remembering himself. “They probably just want to keep me around to keep an eye on me.”

“Is that a bad thing, though?”

Bruce’s face twists. His hands are restless, grasping and ungrasping in their open anxiousness, and for a hot second there Tony envies the guy. The most that Tony is allowing himself today is the tapping a finger against his hip, following a drumbeat that siphons the noise in his head into a manageable, recognizable tune. Other than that, Tony is perfectly poised. He’s even bothered dressing for the occasion, with pressed slacks and a jacket over his Steve McQueen shirt, which is all the better to thwart possible snide comments from Fury about dress codes.

“Guess not,” Bruce says just as the elevator comes to a stop. “And I _am_ having fun next door.”

“Naturally,” Tony says.

The doors open, and they step out onto the communal floor of what is the main Avengers building.

There are four buildings in the compound itself (main building, R&D, admin and warehouse), whereby each is at varying levels of completion, and most of them still smell of construction dust and paint. _This_ building, though, and especially this floor that is to be main living area for the team, is in full working order and ready for moving in. Some of them have already moved in, too: Bruce has the room closest to an emergency side exit, while Rhodey has one on the upper floor that comes with its own landing pad.

Bruce, who misreads Tony’s quick glance around the room, says: “You haven’t been up here yet?”

“Nah.” Tony points a thumb at the kitchen counter, where Helen’s rummaging through the cabinets. “That’s a good coffee machine, though. Why don’t we have one in the science building? I’m getting on requisition.”

There are other people gathered here already, all of them familiar and chatting amongst themselves as they wait. There’s Helen, Maria, Jimmy, that IT guy whose name Tony still can’t remember, and a couple of other former SHIELD agents who have also taken up residency. Over by the window is Nick Fury himself, a dramatic figure of black against the glare of the view outside, his hands clasped behind him.

For lack of something better to do, Tony does a quick sweep of the floor itself: the open space feels welcome instead of cold, the furniture looks cozy, the TV’s a swank model, and there are speakers at various dots along the ceiling for compound-wide announcements. Tony may have had a great deal of say in what R&D building was to be, but the main building is beyond that scope and he’s curious. Like, what _do_ you stock in a kitchen that’s supposed to feed a bunch of superheroes that are going to be living together on the semi-regular? Tony thinks the Klein kid had the job of figuring that out, which must’ve been fun. Not that it matters if he gets stuff wrong, though, because everyone here is figuring it out as it goes along and fully expect to course-correct when necessary.

These are all good thoughts for Tony to be having. Good, useful thoughts that keep his brain away from other thoughts, such as how Tony doesn’t really need to be here. He’d delivered Bruce, just like he told Hill he would, and it’s going to get even more crowded soon, and Rhodey isn’t even here.

“Not bad,” Tony says. “Clean lines and subdued color schemes, my favorite.”

Bruce huffs a laugh, while Maria says without looking up from her tablet, “Fourth floor’s still a question mark, but everything else is looking good.”

“Training hall’s going to need a lot of changes,” Bruce says. “I’m just. Saying.”

“You’ll be fine.” Tony glances at his watch. “Rhodey not back yet?”

“No, but he’s on his way,” Maria says.

Tony considers his options. The main thing is that Fury’s here in person, which drives home the Big Deal of everyone being here, and would thus make a quiet exit for Tony unlikely. Working with Fury (sort of) these past few years have given Tony a good handle on when to nudge and when to let go. A landmark event like the Avengers officially setting up shop – Fury’s dream since the days of Captain Danvers – probably does require an audience, and not only because Fury is tragically addicted to drama.

Sure, Tony’s presence is superfluous without Rhodey, but that might also just be his brain trying to wriggle out an excuse.

Tony should be here. He’s going to _be_ here for the foreseeable future, save for his trips out whenever SI calls, because he signed on to this project just like everyone else in this room. He has a workshop in the next building and his own rooms attached to it, where his partially-unpacked bags and boxes await his future attention. Tony is, by all accounts, committed to this.

That doesn’t mean he wants to be here _right now_ , is the problem.

It doesn’t help that Tony can’t say this out loud. Or express it in any way that’s more explicit than the drumming of his fingers inside his pockets. Not for the first time since he’d met Bruce, he wonders what it would be like to simplify the story for Bruce’s sake, by narrowing it down to the basic and succinct fact that Tony had extra trouble sleeping last night because he’d found out that today he’d be in the same room as his ex for the first time in years.

Bruce would probably be sympathetic, but he’d also be confused, and being confused would open the floor to questions that Tony has less than zero interest in explaining. Questions like, but Tony’s fine with his other exes; that Tony did the playboy thing when he was younger, so why does this one ex matter in any significant way; and holy shit that ex is _Steve Rogers_?

Yeah, Tony isn’t poking that Pandora’s box. Not even for the off-chance of a sympathetic ear.

Crackling thunder, far away but growing closer, is the first sign of approach. JARVIS chimes in, confirming that the Quinjet is coming in for a landing. Anticipation and chatter builds in the room, while Tony moves to a clear patch of wall that he can lean against.

It’s just like taking off a band-aid. A necessary and unavoidable act, and best done quickly. This is what Tony tells himself, over and over, in the hopes that the palpitations in his chest don’t cause the arc reactor to short circuit.

It’s fine. It’s _fine_. It’s just like the old board meetings of yore, where Tony just had to show his face for a couple of minutes, all symbolic-like, before skedaddling. Sure, board meetings never made him feel like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, but he’s survived worse.

If Rhodey were here, he’d say that Tony knew exactly what he was getting into when he agreed to follow him into the Avengers initiative. Besides, it’s been almost ten years. Steve has very likely relegated Tony to a corner of his mind designated for unfortunate memories and/or mistakes that are to be learned from and otherwise never thought about at all.

Steve is freaking Captain America now. He’s saved the world, been to space, fought the Kree. There are literal memorials of him, and his face is plastered on billboards and magazines and cheap knock-off eateries all over the world that could almost rival Carol Danvers. These recent years have been challenging for him, but the accomplishments of today drown out everything of what once was, including a love affair of a lifetime ago that Tony thinks no one would believe even if he told them about it. The awe-inspiring Captain America and the spoiled silver spoon’ed former weapons manufacturer? No way. Laughable. Steve’s smarter than that; Tony’s shallower than that.

But what has Tony on tenterhooks today is not the need to keep that piece of history under wraps, because it’s _been_ under wraps for almost a decade. Both of them have enough unauthorized biographies and profile pieces to stack shelves (Steve more than Tony at this point) but there’s a hilarious little blank spot just before Steve signed up for Project Rebirth, which is bookended by (1) Tony’s meeting his snarky, loudmouthed match in a skinny li’l runt named Steve Rogers and (2) a shouting match that was, in retrospect, foreshadowed by their first meeting.

There were times it would’ve been useful for Steve to mention his connection to Tony, especially at the start when he was trying to rise above his mere propaganda role as Captain America, but he’d never done it. Sure, Steve seemed to have made a deliberate choice to keep his personal life private, whereby all his interviews were done for causes rather than for personal promotion, but he’d never even alluded to a past romance at all.

So, yeah, keeping it on the down-low isn’t the problem.

The actual problem is multifold: that Tony’s been following Steve’s career for years, that Tony watched the Battle of New York on TV with his heart in his throat, and that thinking about Steve got Tony through some of the toughest moments of his life.

Okay, the problem isn’t multifold; it’s one problem, and that problem is Tony’s brain. Said brain is filled with glossy golden memories of Steve that have faded in and out over the years, but now feel all the more urgent: his laugh, the little flick of hair that’d fall in front of his eyes, the way he’d stick his tongue out while drawing, the unimpressed nose wrinkle that had Tony catching his breath almost from the start. He was physically small back then, but when given the chance the sheer force of his personality could bowl anyone over, as it had Tony. Tony falling head over heels was uncharacteristic, and its outcome more so.

It's been fucking _years_ , why is he like this?

Probably because he’s made more than his fair share of epically bad calls, and what he did to Steve ranks near the top. He still remembers the ring – a simple band of white gold, with a Celtic knot on one side. Steve put a lot of thought into that ring, which reflected his taste and Tony’s, and if Tony were not the way he was, he might’ve said yes. _Would’ve_ said yes.

But Tony didn’t, and here he is.

Tony’s palms are sweaty. The Quinjet has landed, and the elevator is going down to collect them.

He’s fantasized about this for years. Well, ‘fantasized’ is the wrong word because that implies longing instead of stomach-churning anxiousness. It would be more accurate to say that he’s _imagined_ this for years, i.e. seeing Steve again, in person, as opposed to through reports, carefully-curated media and secondhand stories. But Tony’s imagination only covered his part of it – seeing Steve as he is now, finally the soldier he’d wanted to be and having had all his dreams come true. Tony’s imagination sadly left blank what _Steve’s_ reaction to Tony might be.

The elevator opens with its cheerful chime, and Thor is the first to step out, cape and hammer all.

“Ah, my other friends!” Thor says. “Yes, yes, hello, yes – Bruce!”

Bruce’s face breaks into a smile, and he steps forward to accept the quick squeezing hug Thor gives him. For all of Bruce’s caution, he just needed the reminder that he’s part of the team.

Behind Thor are the others: Natasha, Steve, Sam, Clint and Hope, in that physical order, though not in order of importance as defined by Tony.

Because there’s _Steve_.

The good captain, six foot two now, and in red, white, and blue, with the helmet off and his hair a dirty blonde from sweat. There’s been no shortage of footage and photos for Tony to study the changes in Steve after he’d received the serum: the height and breadth, the change in his jawline, the muscles that seem naturally shaped for the rest of him. But studying images of him is one thing and seeing him in the person is another.

He is a presence. He commands the eye, even with Thor in the same space as him. He was handsome before, and he’s handsome now albeit by a different measure.

Tony adjusts his glasses, which gives him something to do as he wrestles the acute, skin-prickling hyperawareness of Steve’s person. The guy’s a black hole drawing all focus on him and Tony’s fallen past the event horizon, spaghettified. Okay, the metaphor’s not all that apt, but thinking about it at least keeps him from doing something stupid like, say, looking at Steve directly.

Steve’s talking to the others, his blue eyes lit up as he sees the compound’s welcome wagon, and his mouth in that slight smile that graces most of the magazine covers. The immediate realness of him feels unreal, and Tony is struck by the visceral terror that after all these years, his consumption of Steve’s image is no longer passive. It is active, it is reactive, it is two-way. Steve can look _back at him_.

Tony doesn’t move.

Fury steps forward, shaking hands and gesturing at the area. Some of the others have come forward, too – Jimmy and Helen are happy to introduce themselves. Luckily Hill and Klein hang back as well, making Tony stand out far less than he would otherwise.

“House rules are yours,” Fury says, “as is enforcement. You need a tour or what?”

“You gonna give us one?” Steve says. His smile is more devastating in person than it is in pictures, for here it has the full force of his confidence behind it. Tony’s familiarity with Thor left him unprepared for Steve’s full height and broadness, too.

“Ha,” Fury says. “Everyone knows everyone? No? Hill, Woo, Cho, Stark, Klein, Tedford, Villeco, Johnston. Personal quarters are up top, training down below, conference room over here. I would like to direct all of you that last one.”

“Work already?” Sam says. “Thought maybe we could do some unpacking first.”

“And dinner, actually,” Clint adds.

“I second the dinner,” Natasha says.

“Taking over the place already, I see,” Fury says. “Fine. Adjourn, billet. Conference room at nineteen hundred.”

“I for one wish to explore the grounds first,” Thor declares. “I would greatly appreciate some company.”

While a couple of people graciously volunteer, Steve turns. The conversation proceeds, but Steve’s gaze moves over the rest of the room – coming _over Tony_ – before sliding to the next interesting thing. As if… nothing. Nada. Zip. Tony might as well be part of the wall he’s pressed against.

So Tony’s imagination did not fail him after all. Steve’s utter lack of reaction is a reaction in itself. Steve, of course, knew that Tony would be here and is prepared for it. He must’ve received the personnel file from Fury, or heard tell from Natasha, Bruce or Thor. Though that would also be assuming that Steve cares at all, which is of course a pretty big assumption to begin with.

Tony realizes that he’s been holding his breath for way too long, and carefully modulates an exhale that no one in the room will notice as being out of the ordinary. His next action is to take out his cellphone, swiping over the screen quickly.

He pushes off the wall, saying a quick, “Rhodey’s just landed, I’m gonna…” that earns him a distracted nod from Hill, which is as good as permission to get out of here as he’s going to get.

Tony makes it into the stairwell and up half a floor before he remembers that he doesn’t know his way around the building. His steps slow, and he makes it to the landing and stays there to catch his breath. He _is_ breathing pretty hard, as though finally getting out of the Steve-containing room is as taxing an accomplishment as breaking up a bot rebellion in the workshop.

(On the tangent of heavy breathing, Tony’s brain helpfully offers a memory of that time he sucked Steve off so well that the guy had to grab his inhaler immediately after. Not a bad memory, but not exactly a good memory either.)

It’s over, it’s done. The worst has passed, and now Tony and Steve can co-exist in roughly the same place.

A message from Rhodey arrives in Tony’s phone: _Where are you?_

It occurs to him that Rhodey would’ve just taken the elevator down to the common floor. Tony types quickly: _Left something in lab._

Rhodey’s not Tony’s best friend for nothing. He replies with a thumbs-up emoji, and Tony knows that he’s covered for the rest of the day.

Thus excused, Tony makes the slow trek back to the science building. He can do this. He agreed to do this, and now that Steve’s set the rule – that they’re doing the Ignore Each Other, Nothing to See Here routine – Tony can stop guessing and get down to work.

Easy peasy.


	2. Chapter 2

In effect, decamping to the Avengers is a natural progression of Tony’s journey.

He still loves working on the War Machine suits, which despite Rhodey’s good-natured grumbling will never reach their zenith. Variations are key, and Rhodey is in some ways Tony’s beloved superhero Barbie doll, for whom he is making as many accessories as possible. And just as Rhodey’s role as War Machine expanded over the years, so has Tony’s role in being the Q to his Bond, the Wade to his Kim Possible.

When Rhodey teamed up with SHIELD, Tony offered a hand into making gear for some of their Earth-based big names such as Hill, Natasha and Clint, and giving the hellicarriers a solely-needed upgrade. When Rhodey joined Carol to settle an off-world conflict, Tony got right on making fully space-ready suits, met Thor and Bruce along the way, and picked up a couple of cosmic tips on tech that are most definitely _not_ magic _._

Earth is still a backwater, as Carol has said many times fondly, but the episode with the Chitauri and the Tesseract effectively put the planet on the cosmic map, and Tony wants in on that. It’s his planet, too, after all, and if he’s not putting his brainpower on protecting it, then what’s the point? Where in the past Earth was a ye small provincial town that popped out the occasional interstellar-level hero such as Carol, Steve, Rhodey and T’Challa ( _maybe_ Quill counts, but barely) it’s fast becoming its own galactic hotspot, and Fury was right in taking steps to prepare for that.

The Avengers is one of those big steps. One compound on the ground, with partners around the globe: only SHIELD, Wakanda and the Sanctum Sanctorum for now, but hopefully more in the future. Tony believes that Fury’s original plan involved him leading the Avengers himself, but with Steve back on Earth, it’s freed up Fury to focus on the SHIELD space platforms up in orbit.

Frankly, Tony would’ve preferred having Fury as his (technical) boss.

The day after the Avengers move in, he and Bruce are back in Tony’s lab tinkering with their pattern-recognition algorithm, when Bruce says, “Hey, that reminds me. You never said that you’d met Steve before?”

Tony has enough self-control to not drop anything, and limits his reaction to a mild, “Hmm? What’s that?”

“Last night we were all just talking and someone mentioned you. Clint, I think? No, wait, it was Sam, he said that he might be the only who doesn’t know you, and Steve said, uh…” Bruce trails off, as though suddenly remembering something. “Um, yeah, Steve confirmed it, he said that he met you a long time ago.”

Tony knows a papered-over correction when he hears one. “Uh-uh. What did Steve _really_ say?”

Bruce scratches his chin self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s just… It sounded funnier last night. Steve said that he’d met you before, but it might not count because you’re so old now, that he barely recognized you at all.”

The thing is, Bruce is genuinely apologetic in his relay of the statement. He doesn’t mean anything by it, and he cannot possibly know about the sharp twinge in Tony’s stomach.

“It _is_ funny,” Tony says. “It really was a long time ago when I met him.”

“I guess,” Bruce says hesitantly. “It’s just kind of… weird, I guess, in retrospect. Steve’s usually pretty nice about people, unless they’re, you know. Bad guys.”

“Don’t worry about it, it was deserved.” Tony even manages an airy laugh, like none of it matters, and Steve can say anything in the world he wants. “I wasn’t very nice to him back then.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah, you know me. He hadn’t gotten the serum yet, so he was still…” Tony lets his arms flop down to his sides, imitating someone smaller. “And I’m an asshole.”

Bruce smiles, sheepish and affectionate, because as fond as he is of Tony, he can’t refute the statement and can easily believe that Tony would’ve wanted nothing to do with Steve. Tony _is_ an asshole, though apparently he’s now an asshole who’s old and barely recognizable.

Tony changes the topic swiftly, much to Bruce’s relief, though the topic itself still lingers, rattling around Tony’s skull.

Steve’s not wrong, course. Tony aged quicker after Afghanistan, with new lines around his eyes and mouth, and how he never bothered dyeing his hair once the silver started coming in. At Rhodey’s behest he’s tried to keep in some semblance of shape, but the bad knee only allows him to do so much, and although he still enjoys wearing a good suit, there’s been less opportunity for it since he handed Stark Industries’ reins over. These days his priority’s more on comfort and coziness, anyway.

Was Rhodey in earshot of Steve’s saying this, and did he laugh along? Even if he was nearby, he wouldn’t have joined in, because Rhodey’s warped sense of loyalty is predictable, but Tony can picture clearly in his mind’s eye Rhodey’s pursed lips, a challenge all in their own. Would Steve have noticed that and felt self-conscious?

Not that Rhodey even knows how far Tony’s relationship with Steve got. He doesn’t know about the proposal, but he does know about the dumping, and has mistakenly assumed that Tony’s been thinking of Steve as The One That Got Away.

Tony does not think of Steve that way at all.

In fact, Steve’s statement is a relief. The sting in Tony’s chest is just arrogance, and not worth paying attention to.

Because if Steve can bitch about him, it means that Steve is completely one hundred per cent over him and is probably really embarrassed that he’d ever been into him in the first place. What a bullet Steve dodged! Thank goodness for that, because Steve’s still in his prime, leading a superhero team and saving the world, when in some parallel universe the bad decision was kept and he’d married a guy who only got old prematurely and, even worse, didn’t believe that Steve could be a hero.

Luckily, they’re in _this_ universe, where everything worked out for the better.

Happy endings all around.

+

As the first days of the Avengers’ moving into the compound come to pass, Tony finds that his preemptive measures work a charm. Tony’s over in the science building with the fabrication and bioengineering departments, which keeps him out of the way of the hero team, and especially their leader. Sure, Tony’s a scientific engineering resource, but the Avengers have their own brainy duo on-hand: Bruce and Hope, both of whom are genuinely brilliant and right in the thick of things.

Tony’s role is clearly delineated. He works on the War Machine suits, general weaponry and tactical gear, transport, and whatever else sundry tech that’s needed by any of the other departments. This keeps him busy in the best ways, sparking creativity in unexpected directions as he comes up with multiple ideas for every request that lands in his inbox.

In fact, after the first wave of anxiousness passes, Tony realizes that being here has other perks.

Like one morning when Tony’s trudging his way back to his rooms after an all-nighter, he comes to a startled halt by the window at the sight of two figures out for a morning run.

It's Steve and Sam. Both very attractive men with very impressive thighs and calves, which propel them around a winding circuit of the compound. Tony even tries to put some effort into appreciating Sam’s ass – because that is one hell of an ass – but his eye keeps moving sideways to Steve and his ridiculous posture. What is that? How does he run with his back straight like that?

What was it like, the first time Steve got to run like that? He used to get so frustrated whenever his body failed him, though he never said so out loud.

Okay, so maybe Tony starts making an effort to be up in the mornings for this. Nursing a coffee and propped by the windowsill, over the next few days he catches brief grey morning glimpses of Steve and Sam, Steve and Natasha, Steve and Sam and Natasha, Steve and Natasha and Hope.

The other perk of being here is that Tony gets the inside scoop on the Avengers’ heroics. Sure, Rhodey would’ve told him about the missions he’s on anyway, but it’s very spiffy to get the highlights of post-mission reports, and see the damage on the Quinjet and the Avengers’ outfits himself and – best of all – get a laundry list of things that need improving.

Tony’s into superhero gossip, what he can say? And this way he gets to know exactly how strong Baron Strucker’s new Mind Stone-made weapons are in that they can take down freaking _Thor_.

One day Hill even sends him the field comm recordings, and Tony spends that evening listening to the Avengers’ battle banter. Natasha’s more talkative than expected, Bruce is way more confident than he gives himself credit for, and Steve is… well.

“ _Falcon, watch your six_ ,” Steve says.

“ _Oh, I’m sorry_ ,” Sam says, “ _are you offering constructive criticism? Because I don’t see what that poor truck did to hurt you._ ”

“ _It was in the way_ ,” Steve says.

“ _Verily,_ ” Thor chimes in, “ _that should be my task. Or my good friend the Hulk’s_.”

“ _Where is the Hulk, anyway_?” Hope says.

“ _Holy shit!”_ Clint exclaims. “ _You got a grudge against motorcycles now, too?_ ”

“ _One day,_ ” Steve says, _“if you eat all your greens and do as you’re told, you, too, can get an experimental serum pumped into your bloodstream and headbutt every single Hydra vehicle that crosses your path. Except for the ‘do as you’re told’ part, of course._ ”

“ _I was just about to add that last bit_ ,” Natasha says.

“ _Just being realistic with my pep talks_ ,” Steve says.

Tony pauses the recording and laughs. He’s supposed to be listening in to improve the comms and reduce delay, but that is just priceless.

Geez, Steve. A natural leader and protector of Planet Earth, but still a little shit underneath. Amazing.

There’s more where that came from, too. Steve’s pitch-perfect delivery would be the envy of stand-ups everywhere, though it makes sense to reserve it for team members and friends who are less likely to misunderstand or misquote him. Tony knows all about the importance of the public-face self, and Steve’s choice to have Captain America be straightforward and only occasionally sarcastic is a sensible choice.

And Tony was already really fucking proud of Steve as it was.

Inspired, Tony asks JARVIS to pull up the website of Steve’s largest fan club, gets their list of Steve’s favorite charities, and spreads a couple of donations across the lot in the club’s name. While in the middle of doing this, DUM-E rolls up to the workbench and bumps his knee, chirping.

“Oh hey, look!” Tony scrolls back up to the fansite’s header, which features three blended images of Steve’s very impressive jawline, and tilts the screen to show DUM-E. “It’s Steve!”

DUM-E whirrs curiously, his claw opening and closing.

“Yeah, I know,” Tony says. They aren’t the best photos of Steve – too posed, too stern – but the blue of his eyes is beautifully clear, and Tony likes the way Steve’s hair falls just so in the right-most photo. He pats DUM-E’s arm absently and says, “I’m printing the receipts, get them for me, would you? Thanks.”

+

Of course, Tony can’t stay out of Steve’s way completely. They’re both occupants of the same mini-town, and Tony does leave his workshop on occasion. More often than not it’s for Rhodey or Bruce’s sake, though Tony does take care to detour as nonchalantly as he can if he sees Steve nearby.

He’s pretty sure that Steve doesn’t notice any of these occasions, except the one time he crossed the main landing pad to check on the Quinjet’s engine, and Steve and Sam were standing together outside the main building, as if on a cigarette break except neither of them were smoking.

Tony had his shades on, so he fully intended to focus on the task at hand, except Sam raised a hand in his direction and said, “Hey.” This necessitated Tony’s replying nod, though he turned away quickly, because Steve was also looking at him, his face blank. Thank goodness that by the time Tony had the doors down, the pair disappeared back into the building, allowing him to _actually_ focus on the task at hand.

Still, comparatively, that’s not so bad.

Worse than that is when it’s unavoidable for them to be in the same room together.

The Avengers have meetings, and sometimes call in non-Avengers to join when necessary. The first such meeting that Tony attends is in preparation for an investigation into a possible arms-smuggling racket which is, naturally, a topic that Tony has some experience with.

The meeting’s in the main building’s conference room. Tony enters with Rhodey before the meeting itself starts, and sits with his buddy, his pal, his security blanket, near the back of the conference table. While the others trickle in noisily, Tony busies himself with setting up his tablet.

“Thanks, everyone,” Steve says. He’s up front and, oddly enough, dressed down in a dark green plaid shirt that isn’t his best color, but the material looks really soft and rests on his shoulders flatteringly. “Let’s start with what we know.”

Tony finds that there being a group of people in the same room dampens the Steve Effect a great deal. It’s even better when said group of people have a discussion that barely involves Tony, and most of Tony’s attention can be directed to his tablet, where JARVIS’s transcription of the discussion trails across an open window.

Steve, with assists from Natasha, explains about the latest cache of energy weapons confiscated from Strucker’s abandoned headquarters, and their similarity to energy weapons that T’Challa’s encountered at a separate occasion. They’d assumed that the weapons were made by Strucker, but once they’d sent the Mind Stone to Carol, there shouldn’t be new weapons entering the market. Time to trace origins, dealers, the works.

Rhodey knows about the usual black-market tricks of the trade, and speaks up at places where Tony might be expected to offer something. Tony’s been out of the business too long, anyway, while Rhodey’s kept up with his day job.

“Energy signatures can be literal signatures, sure,” Rhodey says, “but you’d have better luck tracing bullet casings.”

“But these _don’t_ match the Mind Stone,” Bruce says. “You might be seeing a pattern that’s merely superficial.”

“Higher form of war, didn’t you say?” Sam says. “Here it is. Maybe this is the new normal.”

“Or imports,” Thor says. “There are other hidden non-humans on this planet, as our friend Talos has been happy to share. Perhaps they are bringing their goods, now they know that there is a market for them.”

“Would it take long to reverse engineer these?” Natasha says. “Tony?”

Tony doesn’t jump, but he does take a second to look up, quickly read what’s on the holographic screen, and tally what he has in the workshop. “To make more, or to find a way to neutralize them?”

“Either,” Natasha nods.

“The second,” Steve says. “Neutralize.”

“A few days, if you can get me a couple of units that still work.” Wow, Tony can totally look Steve in the eye if he’s also planning out the dismantling of energy weapons that can possibly level an entire city block at one false move. “I’ll do it on the platform.”

“What?” Steve’s brow knits. “No, you do it here. The platform isn’t secure.”

It’s a fact of life that Tony’s brain works quickly. Sometimes this means distraction, other times overthinking, but more often involves a lightning-sharp zip from point to point that, when spoken out loud, usually annoys whoever’s listening.

After Steve says the platform isn’t secure, Tony thinks:

That’s dangerous, because while he hasn’t studied the weapons in detail, he’s pretty sure that he might not have the right containment system to hold them, especially if their energy casings are as complicated as he suspects. Zero-g in the platform would at least contain the greatest of the possible damage, though admittedly at the cost of possible security breaches. Another option would be to do it at Wakanda; Steve did say that T’Challa is involved, and surely Shuri would have something that works, though of course T’Challa is understandably tetchy about letting anyone who isn’t an Avenger into the palace. Maybe Shuri could bring something over? Or they can call Carol, she’s supposed to bring the Barsemmi control crystals that Tony asked for the new labs.

Loads of considerations. Tony could even voice them aloud, but Steve’s frown is deepening, which has Tony realizing that possibly the worst thing he could do right now, when this is the first time in years that Steve’s _speaking directly to him_ is for Tony to crack open an argument, as if proving some cosmic point that the only thing that Tony’s good for when it comes to Steve is picking fights with him.

So Tony nods and says, “Okay.” He quickly swipes through his tablet, pulling up the necessary equipment he’ll need to set up for analysis.

“Okay,” Steve says, after a beat. “You sure?”

“Yep, all good,” Tony says to his tablet.

“All... right then,” Steve says. “Anyone have any thoughts on how to get working units?”

“Wait,” Hope says. “Sorry, just… That sounds dangerous. Dismantling the weapons here, I mean. Didn’t the last time we made a containment field for the Mind Stone backfire? Sorry, Bruce.”

“You’re not wrong,” Bruce says. “Wakanda’s cornered the market on force fields that don’t blow up at the first sign of a short. Though I’m not sure what Fury’s using on the platform? I don’t think it’s Wakandan.”

“Kree-repurposed tech, I believe,” Natasha says. “Not that I’ve seen it myself. I’ll look into it, maybe there’s something we can bring down, if you want to keep it local.”

“Tony,” Rhodey says, nudging Tony’s elbow. “How’s that for an option?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “I can work with that, no problem.”

The discussion moves on to Natasha’s latest lead on a possible shipment they can intercept, though it might involve ruffling some high-level feathers so they’ll need to be very careful about it. Tony half-listens as he sorts through his lists, which is easy to do because barely anyone asks him anything else for the rest of the meeting.


	3. Chapter 3

The Avengers’ work gains momentum. Their first few missions are relatively low-key, with their highest profile actions being rescue and recovery.

More people move into the compound. The requests that land in Tony’s inbox grow more varied, and Tony gets more visitors at the workshop. Bruce and Hill are the most common, though Natasha, Sam and Clint have dropped by, usually because whatever problem they’re having with their gear requires a live demonstration.

Rhodey, of course, doesn’t count as a visitor. Tony’s workshop is also Rhodey’s chill pad, whenever he’s bored or wants to hang out or for whatever reason doesn’t want to be in the main building. In Tony’s honest opinion, Rhodey’s loyalty to the Air Force puts him somewhat out of step from most of the other Avengers (with other similar exceptions of Thor and Hope) who’ve put all their proverbial eggs into this gig. Sure, team dynamics are fluid and flexible, but Rhodey’s making a deliberate choice to put limits on that engagement, though possibly also because he’s a _party pooper_.

“Let me get this straight,” Tony says. “You voted _against_ blowing up the tanker?”

“I appreciate a good boom as the next person,” Rhodey says, “but a good boom still needs to have a purpose.”

Rhodey’s just returned from a mission somewhere in the North Sea, which means that the War Machine suit that’s now propped up in the middle of Tony’s workshop has both burn damage and ice damage. Tony’s reviewing the results of JARVIS’s scans, while Rhodey’s sprawled on the couch and partaking of Tony’s Cheetos stash, in between sharing the usual post-mission blather.

“Is it not enough to indulge the gods of pyromania?” Tony says. “You should ask Thor if that’s a thing.”

“And hurt the penguins? Really, Tony?”

“Penguins hang out at the South Pole, Rhodey my dumpling.”

“I know, I was just making sure you’re paying attention.”

“I’m always paying attention.” Tony pushes his goggles down to peer at Rhodey over them. “I’m paying attention to the fact that you found an old tanker and, what, thought you’d give it to SHIELD for scraps? What was even in it?”

“Classified.”

“Oh, like saucy Russian pin-ups?”

“Doing unspeakable things to kolbasa, obviously.”

Tony cackles. Rhodey’s relaxed, so it must’ve been a good mission. Not a great one, since they didn’t get everything they wanted, but they got a decent chunk of the smugglers and their cache, and no one got hurt. At most Rhodey just sounds irritated, but almost getting blown up would do that to anyone.

“They’re having a party tomorrow night, at the big house,” Rhodey says.

“You can just say ‘next door’ like a normal person.”

“And you’d know what a normal person is?” Rhodey raises a hand, which prompts Tony to lean over, mouth open to catch the Cheeto he throws at him. “Come over, yeah?”

“What’s it for?”

“Depending on who you ask, it’s Sam’s birthday, or it’s to celebrate the compound being fully functional, or to entertain Thor, or because some people are coming to visit.”

“What people?”

“You know, people,” Rhodey says. “Like Scott Lang and his kid. Hope said she might be going back with them for a bit, and I think there’s something else going on there, but she said Cassie really wanted to hang out with Captain America first. And by Cassie I mean Scott.”

Tony nods. “I cannot disrespect.”

There’s a pause while Rhodey munches and swallows another handful. “We ever gonna talk about that?”

“About what?”

“The weird… Captain America… thing. Going on with you.”

Tony pushes two windows on the screen out of the way, so he can look directly at Rhodey. “We ever gonna talk about the weird Captain Marvel thing going on with you?”

“That is not the same!”

“Is it? I wouldn’t know.” Tony grins and playfully puts his fists up when Rhodey huffs at him. “If this is your roundabout way of asking if I still want to be here, doing this, then yes. I want to be here, doing this. And not only because I’m the only one who can design the suit that your ass deserves.”

“One, I appreciate that, actually; but two, if you’re okay with it then are you ever gonna stop jumping at shadows whenever Steve’s around?”

Tony starts to defend himself because he does _not_ jump at shadows, but even as he thinks that, he knows that Rhodey’s just saying it to get a rise out of him. If anything, there’s a lack of reaction on Tony’s part whenever Steve is around – a void of non-responsiveness, as it were – and Rhodey is curious and concerned.

“I’m working on it. I am!” Tony insists. “It’s called exposure therapy.”

“Uh-uh,” Rhodey says. “Look, I know you guys had a thing, but it was ages ago and, frankly, you’ve had far worse exes to contend with—”

“I’m the bad ex,” Tony says. “Not him. Me.”

He sighs, because Rhodey’s almost forcibly holding himself still in the hopes that this’ll be enough to get Tony to spill his guts. And Tony loves him the world, but that’s not going to happen. At the same time, Tony knows that Rhodey’s concerned – he’s a great guy, and great guys worry about other people – and he needs something to tide that worry over.

“We talk about this now, and then never again, on pain of my going up to Carol and asking what’s what, yeah?” Tony waits for Rhodey’s tentative nod, which he gets. “You know Cap’s whole story about how people didn’t believe that he’d make it, or that he offered anything useful when he enlisted? That’s me, I’m one of those people. I didn’t believe in him, and told him so. That was, using the casual parlance, very uncool of me.”

“You… told him this when you were together?” Rhodey says slowly.

It wasn’t a single conversation, but many. What drew Tony to Steve in the first place was how sharp and opinionated he was, and uninterested in impressing Tony. Steve had thoughts about Howard’s business, about SHIELD, about the government’s defense policies, about Tony’s future role in said policies; and all of the above tied down to how Steve wanted to do more than just talk about it. The kind of energy that Tony had in making things, Steve had in wanting to _do_ things, and that was exciting.

Interest needn’t necessarily have led to their sleeping together, but Tony couldn’t resist Steve’s pretty eyes, and it was difficult for it to be a one-off when Tony enjoyed hanging out with Steve. The big wall that came racing up towards them was Tony’s eventual realization that Steve was serious about enlisting and making a difference. The universe was a huge place, and there were always going to be attempts to follow in Captain Marvel’s footsteps. That most of those attempts had failed was no reason to give up, according to Steve.

Tony’s fear held him back, and kept him from believing in what wasn’t just theory to Steve. Of course, Steve being Steve, and humiliated in Tony’s turning away his ring, had to lay out the fullness of his dismay – in Tony’s privilege, in his reliance on Obadiah, in Tony’s belief that he would never be challenged in any meaningful way.

And Tony responded in the only way a son of Howard Stark knew how. He couldn’t plead for Steve not to go; he had no words that were pretty enough or deep enough, when he’d already turned down the ring. So instead of going soft, Tony went hard. He knew Steve well enough to know where to cut: he said that Steve would never make it because he was nothing more than a dreamer, that Steve was only trying to blame Stane because of his own feelings of inadequacy, that Steve didn’t know enough of the world the way that Tony did, that there was no such thing as being able to stay a good person in the theater of war.

He cut and cut and cut, and the finishing blow landed the sharpest: Tony declared his disappointment that Steve wasn’t grateful for what he already had. (Tony was referring to Steve’s relative safety and not-great-but-not-debilitating health. It was only after the fact that Tony realized that Steve would’ve heard it as Tony saying that Steve _owed_ him, and especially that Steve should’ve been grateful to be ‘worthy’ of Tony’s attention.)

That was the last time they saw each other. Before recently, that is.

“Yep,” Tony says. “I said so, and I was wrong. Don’t misunderstand me, okay, it’s awesome to be wrong about this because, man… just look him now.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey says slowly. “So are you afraid he holds a grudge against you or…?”

Tony shrugs. “Don’t really care if he does. He’s entitled to, but whatever. My point is, it is perfectly reasonable and non-neurotic for me to feel iffy around him for the time being, right? I am, you must admit, doing quite well on the scale of: holy shit my mistakes have come back to haunt me, what do I do now?”

“Assuming the accuracy of that scale, sure, you’re not doing too bad.” Rhodey puts down the Cheetos, crosses the room and pulls Tony into a quick sideways hug while Tony groans. “But at least show your face at the party, all right?”

“Well dang, James, do you need a wingman or what.”

“If I say yes, will you come?”

“You have a limited amount of best friend privileges, and this is what you want to spend it on? Weak.” Tony laughs at Rhodey’s face, and quickly kisses his cheek. “Yeah, I’ll drop by, don’t worry.”

+

A promise made in the spirit of the moment feels less like a good idea the next day. Not that Tony doesn’t like parties. He loves them, but he loves them in the way he loves buckets of ice-cream, i.e. once upon a time he’d just dive right in and glutton all night and it’d be fine, but nowadays it’s more like… okay that’s a lot to get through, how on earth did his stomach deal with all of this happening at once?

Also, thinking about ice-cream reminds Tony about how Steve can’t be lactose intolerant anymore and how much fun that must have been for him to explore, which in turn has Tony remembering that the actual real life Steve is going to be at the same party and seeing him in a social setting as opposed to pure work-related reasons. Not to mention that Tony might be expected to _mingle_ , which is in actual fact way harder than being at the center of attention. (It _is_ , Rhodey.)

Not that Tony would prefer to being back in the spotlight. Fun as it may sometimes be in his memories, nowadays just the mere thought of it is exhausting. Tony thinks that he lost the energy for it during those long, _long_ weeks recovering from Stane’s temper tantrum (RIP) and never got around to getting it back.

Nowadays Tony satisfies enough of his attention whore neediness by sending other people out into spotlight on his behalf, where they use, wear or show off his accomplishments. His supermodels on the fashion runway that is life, so to speak.

Anyway, party. In the late early evening, Tony asks JARVIS to remind him which excuses he’s used lately to get Rhodey off his back. JARVIS is not helpful on that front, though he does tell Tony that Bruce has just sent him a message asking for him to come over because there’s a problem with the sound system.

“What problem?” Tony says.

“ _A Thor-related problem, sir_ ,” JARVIS says.

Tony sighs, girds his loins, and gets up. He doesn’t have much of an idea what the dress code is, but probably smart casual? He can’t imagine Bruce putting a suit on, anyway. A nice shirt and matching colored glasses are probably enough, though he puts the extra effort of doing his hair, too.

Over in the main building’s common area, the furniture has been moved around for the guests and catering, where said catering includes a bar complete with bartender. Tony wanders in, bemused and keeping an eye on the exit because, ho boy, that is more people than he expected this early in the evening.

There is music playing, but it’s coming from the TV and is thus tinny and not enough for a party of this size. Bruce and Thor are by said TV, and wave at him. Tony approaches and quickly sees the problem, though to be fair the smoking speakers are hard to miss.

“It was an accident,” Thor says, contrite. “Static electricity can be fiend.”

“Right,” Tony says. “Do I need to redo the grounding on the floor?”

“Probably,” Bruce says. “But for now, can you…?”

Tony frowns. “Where’s the toolbox?”

“We’re very sorry,” Thor says. At Bruce’s side-eye, he adds, “I’m very sorry. I know you’re not much a fan of revelries as these.”

“Thor, seriously, it’s fine.” Tony rolls up his sleeves and gets down to jury rigging the sound system. Nothing fancy; just enough to last the night and not get anyone electrocuted.

As Tony works, he parses the crowd. Almost everyone’s here – Natasha and Clint are having drinks, Hope seems to be introducing Jimmy to a child that is probably Cassie Lang, and there’s a blue blob with blond hair at the edges of Tony’s vision that he assumes is Steve.

Tony isn’t abandoned, though. Bruce stays close to hold the stepladder, and Rhodey drops by to stick his nose into what’s going on (“Thor, you are literally an electrical hazard,” he says) and drops a plate of food for Tony, as if it’s a reward for his showing up.

Thor, meanwhile, has amassed a small, enthralled gathering around him. “Dark Elves,” Thor tells them. “Not like your Orlando Bloom Elves, mind.”

While Tony twists wires, he listens in. Maybe Asgardian culture treats storytelling as a Production, or maybe that’s just Thor. Whatever the case, Thor is very good at captivating his audience with descriptions of Svartalfheim, and new battles that rounded up the old.

“Our dashing Captain Rogers would never say so,” Thor says, “but he was the Fourth Warrior that day.”

 _Wow_ , Tony thinks as he pushes the last wire in. Steve helped Thor fight the Dark Elves. No one’s made a TV special about _that_. What a guy.

“Got it,” Tony says. He leaves casing open so he can fix it properly tomorrow, but taps the power switch. A cheer erupts as Bebe Rexha declares in lovely surround sound that it’s going to be a good, good life.

Tony joins the applause, though in doing so he loses a bit of his balance getting off the stepladder, and lands on his left foot wrong. The impact shudders up his calf to his knee, which doesn’t appreciate the attention.

Still, Tony recovers enough to pat Bruce on the shoulder. “Party on.” He grabs at his plate and moves away to find a place to sit.

That’s a mistake, it seems. Tony should’ve sat on the stepladder, because he wasn’t paying attention to where the actual empty chairs are. Everything up front is taken, and the kitchen area with its island has been taken over by catering, so the chairs must be elsewhere.

There are too many people. It’s one thing for people to block the exits, but chairs are an actual necessity right now, and Tony’s knee is getting unhappier with each step he takes.

Tony wobbles. The plate in his hand wobbles with him.

He sees the fall coming at the next step, and in the half-second prior contemplates exactly how to land without hurting himself on his plate.

But the fall doesn’t come, because someone’s catching him. Strong hands grab hold – one around his arm, and the other on his waist – and pull him upright.

Tony turns sharply and, oh shit, it’s Steve.

It’s Steve, who’s in a soft blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to show off thick, taut forearms covered with dusty blond hair, which makes for another notable difference from his pre-serum self. It’s Steve, who looks as surprised as Tony is.

“Thanks,” Tony blurts out.

“Of course, yes.” Steve starts to pull away, until he realizes that Tony still hasn’t gotten his feet under him.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” Tony hears himself say. He finally spots a stool by the wall and makes to approach it.

Steve lets go but hovers for a second, which is its own kind of humiliating. Maybe if Tony focuses really hard on keeping his plate and the food on it upright, he won’t have to think about the heat rising at the back of his neck. Mortification is a reasonable response! It doesn’t matter that Steve’s actions are, removed from all other context, perfectly gallant.

(Tony didn’t even realize Steve was so close by, what the fuck.)

By the time Tony gets to the stool, Steve’s gone. Fled the scene. Or maybe he just walked away at a regular speed and Tony’s senses are just completely warped.

The places that Steve touched him seem to burn.

 _What a fucking gentleman_ , Tony thinks as he digs viciously into his chicken wings.

At the other side of the room, another raucous gathering starts to thicken. Tony can’t see very well from his spot, but there’s no missing the fire hazard that is the two-tiered cake covered with a veritable blanket of candles that Natasha and Scott are carrying towards Sam.

Steve reappears by Sam’s side, grinning broadly and clapping along to the birthday song. Tony’s waist still tingles from Steve’s hand, but the man himself might as well be in another galaxy right now.

(Tony got to spend one birthday with Steve. It was Steve’s birthday, not Tony’s, and they kept it small, just the way Steve preferred. Obadiah wasn’t happy, of course, because the CEO of Stark Industries had Fourth of July appearances to make, but Tony insisted. It was all worth it to kiss the gluten-free cream off Steve’s lips.)

Tony finishes his meal and slips out of the room just as they’re cutting up and distributing the cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hackedmotionsensors did a doodle fanart of a scene from this chapter, [over on tumblr](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/190402608486/super-quick-doodle-of-annie-dscaramouches). :>


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Tony wakes up buzzing with restless energy. He checks his clock, and finds that it’s too early to get into a workshop groove, but too late to catch Steve on his morning run. That said, even if Tony _wasn’t_ too late to catch Steve’s run, he probably wouldn’t have bothered. He’s still rattled by the brush-up last night that was, effectively, five seconds of nothing.

Which probably says something about his state of mind. (Steve’s serum-enhanced jaw can cut glass. Steve’s serum-enhanced hands are… huge.)

Tony gets up anyway in search of something to do. His workshop feels oddly confining, so he drags his flask of coffee around the science building, which is mostly empty. Tony figures that everyone got the morning off after last night’s shindig, not that Tony knows how late the partying went.

He ends up heading over to the warehouse to have a look at the new boats. For sea work, the Avengers have mostly been borrowing from SHIELD and USAF, but Hill recently got some used cutter vessels from the coast guard that they’ve been sprucing up. Tony’s been meaning to check out the installations, and it gives him a chance to stretch his legs.

So it is that Tony spends his coffee breakfast sitting inside the engine of the largest cutter, contemplating how to make an arc reactor-powered back-up engine that will cause minimum damage upon water contact and yet can withstand a high drop from a Quinjet.

He’s been in there for a while, when he hears noises: footsteps and voices, which grow louder and more recognizable as they approach. There’s one voice in particular that has Tony sighing. He hunkers down and switches off the light of his phone, leaving him hidden in the dim.

“You can just talk to them, you know,” Clint says.

“I know it feels like you have to choose, but you don’t,” Steve says. He doesn’t sound out of breath at all, unlike Clint. Maybe they had a slightly later than usual morning run. “You can be an Avenger on the West Coast. Hold the fort there.”

“A fort of one,” comes a female voice – Hope.

“Two,” Clint says. “What? Scott’s improved a lot, even you can see that.”

“And there will be others,” Steve says. “If you set up a base, it will give people with special abilities a place to go to.”

“No, I want to settle this,” Hope says. “We’re so close to pinning Hammer for the arms deal, and I want to see his face when we do.”

“I’ll take a picture for you,” Steve says.

“Not the same as being there in person,” Hope says. “God, that guy. If he were just an asshole, it wouldn’t be so annoying, but he’s one of those extra assholes who thinks that being rich is an actual personality trait.”

“That’s all rich people,” Clint says. “Although – not that the rich need defending – I would like to exempt Thor.”

“Thor would be fine at _not_ being exempted,” Steve says. “He’s more self-aware than you give him credit for.”

“And Tony’s not bad either,” Clint says. “For a rich guy? I mean, there’s not much else to him, but that’s not, like, a bad thing.”

“Hah, you’re only saying that ‘cause you didn’t know him before,” Hope says. “You met the guy back in the day, right, Cap? Before he had to sell off most of Stark Industries? He was quite the character. But I wish to heartily disagree with my dad and say that he’s still better than Hammer.”

Dread prickles up Tony’s spine. He prays for a change of topic, or for the group to leave, or for something to explode in the near vicinity. None of that happens.

What does happen is that Steve fucking Rogers says, “Tony had to sell most of SI?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hope says. “They dressed it up positively because, you know, shareholder value? But it’s ‘cause there was this other guy, Obadiah Stane, he was the real brains of SI, even during Howard’s time. So when Stane died, SI kind of… fell apart. It was a gradual thing, and got overshadowed by Stark’s creation of the War Machine suit anyway. I think SI kept the green tech and medical arms? But of course it’s doing well again now, but that’s ‘cause Rambeau took over once Stark stepped down as CEO.”

“He did not step down,” Clint says. “He’s still on the website—”

“As the _owner_ ,” Hope says. “That doesn’t mean he actually runs anything.”

“You know what,” Clint says, “I respect that. If I, too, could just give someone my name and get a check at the end of every month for it, I would do it.”

“You would,” Hope says. “But hey, don’t get me wrong, I like Stark! He’s really smart, and he’s doing good things here. I’m glad he’s on the crew.”

“Imagine if we had Hammer instead,” Clint says. “Ugh.”

Steve, who hasn’t said anything for a while, now chimes in with: “You’re aware we don’t have evidence that it _is_ Hammer behind the deals. It’s still conjecture at this point.”

“You’re just saying that,” Clint says.

“Probably,” Steve says. “I just want to point out that the investigation may take longer than we expected, so you might as well go back to San Francisco.”

Hope sighs. “Yeah, there is that.”

They talk a little more about Hope’s projects and what Scott can bring into the team, and thankfully do not mention Tony again. Tony also realizes that he’d missed the opportunity to record the conversation; not to be creepy and invasive, though it _would_ be creepy and invasive regardless, but so that he can listen back to Steve’s voice and dissect any possible meaning from it.

Steve’s phenomenal straight-faced delivery has more benefits than just landing a punchline. It denies Tony any sort of clarity; Steve didn’t sound that surprised to learn about SI, but at the same time he didn’t sound _unsurprised_ in a mean way like haha of course Tony had to sell off chunks of the family business because he couldn’t hold on to it. Was Steve just mildly interested in the anecdote, the way that he’d be mildly interested if it were any other casual acquaintance?

Is Steve glad to learn that Stane died? He should’ve known that already, even if he wasn’t on Earth when it happened.

Or maybe he didn’t know at all, which is certainly possible if Steve deliberately avoided all news to do with Tony. Maybe he did, and it would’ve been a wise and valid choice. That way, the most that Steve would know is what’s in Tony’s official SHIELD file, which is mostly about his weapons-manufacturing-history turned War-Machine-making-history, which leaves the kidnapping as a mere footnote and Stane not mentioned at all.

Regardless, it doesn’t make much of a difference that Steve knows now. Just as it doesn’t make a difference that Tony overheard the Avengers talk about him. People talk, years after the fact. That’s just life.

The trio leaves not too long after, presumably to get breakfast. Tony stays where he is, and even manages to get back to work.

+

If Tony feels listless, that’s all on him. He throws himself into the work, which does help, until the morning after when he realizes that it’s been weeks since Steve moved into the compound and he’s still being a goddamned headcase about it. Sure, he was once in love with the guy, who was also the only person he’s ever known who liked him enough to want to _marry_ him, but this kind of shit is exhausting _._

Is Tony like this because he never fully processed how badly he did Steve wrong, and it’s only now, when faced with the guy in person, that he’s finally catching up? After all, he was preoccupied a great deal after Steve left, what with Tony’s getting kidnapped and fumbling his attempt to remake Stark Industries and dealing with fucking Stane on top of it all.

Here are the facts, as Tony sees them. Tony’s head is a mess of worms because (1) he feels guilty, (2) assuaging said guilt would mean trying to atone and Tony wouldn’t know the first thing to do about that and (3) he doesn’t know how much Steve still cares about it, if at all.

What would Rhodey do? He’d probably work through that numbered list in the reverse order, by first asking Steve if he still feels the hurt, if he even thinks about it at all.

Unfortunately, that would involve having to talk to Steve. Which Tony doesn’t know how to, even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t.

Why doesn’t he want to?

Because for all that there’s a gaping hole in Tony’s chest (not the literal arc reactor one, but a metaphorical one) where Steve used to be, and that Tony has fully accepted that hole because it is of his own making, he still has feelings for Steve.

‘Having feelings for’ is separate from ‘being invested in’. Tony is well-aware that he’s been invested in Steve in an ebb-and-flow way over the years, because it’s not like JARVIS was the one who set up Tony’s internet news alerts for “Steve Rogers”, “Steven Rogers”, “Steve G. Rogers”, “Steven G. Rogers”, ad infinitum. But being worried about Steve’s exploits and toasting to his successes with the bots is not the same thing as looking the guy in the eye and realizing: _damn it_.

Damn it. Tony’s still weak at the knees for the guy.

The last time Tony was weak at the knees for Steve, he’d thrown himself as noisily and ostentatiously as possible into trying to get Steve’s attention. But he didn’t know, back then, how bad he’d be for Steve, and how he’d be just like everyone else in the world who’d made fun of Steve’s hopes and dreams. Tony’s wiser now, so obviously the correct course of action today is to get as little of Steve’s attention as possible. Even Tony’s subconscious knew that, the moment Steve showed up being all handsome and Captain-y and full-hearted towards his friends.

The revelation that Tony’s still a little in love with Steve (or alternately, that he’s just fallen _back_ a little in love with Steve) doesn’t do much to improve his mood. He can’t turn to most of his old distractions, because drinking and partying are passé, and hooking up with someone else makes him feel kinda nauseous.

What’s left?

There’s the work, and stuffing himself with junk food, and blasting the workshop with choice tunes. After eight straight hours of this pure hedonism, Tony even starts to feel better, or at least lightheaded enough to have lost all track of time, which is almost the same thing.

Though even JARVIS has to comment after eight hours of Tony’s two-song repeat playlist of Dancing Queen and the theme of _Pacific Rim_.

“ _Sir_ ,” JARVIS says. “ _May I request adding at least one other song?_ ”

“No, you may not,” Tony says. “I am in the zone, and I will not be disturbed.”

JARVIS leaves him be long enough for Tony to complete another set of Natasha’s gauntlets, but then pipes up with, “ _There’s a request for your presence in the training hall, sir._ ”

“From?”

“ _Maria Hill, sir_.”

“Ugh, fine.” Tony gets up, double-checks that his shirt isn’t filthy, and throws on a beanie, glasses, and a pair of sweatpants over his shorts. His stomach grumbles, which is surprising considering the amount of caffeine he’s consumed to appease it, and grabs a handful of gummy snakes before heading out.

Outside, it’s almost noon, and so bright that Tony has to squint despite the shades. The compound is alive with activity – a Quinjet’s taking off, a group of people Tony can’t be bothered to track are running a circuit, and so on so forth. Tony winds his way to the training hall, which is nice and cool inside, and has only a handful of people standing around on the ground level.

Maria Hill’s with her perpetual tablet-clipboard, Natasha is sitting cross-legged on a crate that looks like it could fall over at any moment, and an unknown third person is, for lack of a better description, doing a Tarzan across the ceiling.

Tony tilts his head back to watch, and pops another gummy snake into his mouth in lieu of popcorn.

The figure swings, somersaults, changes direction mid-leap, and lands with a rolling flourish. The sensible assumption would be that Hill and Natasha have invited a potential new Avenger to check them out, but then the figure removes what seems to be a modified ski mask from their head, revealing their face.

“Oh! Oh my gosh,” the kid, because he _is_ a kid, says as he rushes towards Tony. He offers a hand, but quickly pulls it back before Tony can figure out a reply. “Mister Stark! Doctor Stark? Mister?”

“C, none of the above,” Tony says. “Who are you?”

“Peter Parker, sir, hi,” Peter says, sounding breathless despite his not actually breathing hard at all. “Your work is – I’m a fan, sir. Your papers on superfluids in combination with charged particles is amazing, it got me thinking about tensile strength on exponential decay for the – for the –” The kid turns and flicks at the device on his wrist, which sends another flush of webstring flying across the hall.

“Huh,” Tony says. “You made that?”

“Yeah.”

“The launcher _and_ the liquid?”

“Yeah!”

“From what?”

“Uh,” Peter twitches, in the way of self-conscious teenagers, not that Tony knows many, “um. I didn’t steal, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Scraps,” Tony says. “You made it from scraps and leftovers and purloined school supplies. That enough of a reason for you to be swinging all over New York and giving Luke Cage a headache? Yeah, I’ve seen the videos.”

“I’m also really strong,” Peter says. “And sticky.”

“Radioactive spider-bite,” Hill says. “Bruce had a look at him, too.”

“And that makes you the Spider-ling,” Tony says.

“Spider-man,” Peter says.

“You can’t even shave yet and that’s what you’re going with?” Tony eyeballs this eerily pimple-free teenager who’s almost vibrating from his efforts to stand still. Here’s a smart kid who’s probably too smart for his own good; Tony knows the type. Tony thoughtfully bites the head off his last gummy snake and offers the remains. “You want some?”

“Uh,” Peter says. “No?”

“Good,” Tony says, “because you don’t know where it’s been, and you shouldn’t take candy from strangers. Who’s your favorite Avenger?”

“War Machine,” Peter says promptly.

“Are you just saying that because I’m the one who’s asking?”

Peter opens his mouth, then closes it. “Maybe a teeny bit, but to be fair I’m really nervous right now and I want you to like me.”

Tony presses his lips together to stop himself from laughing. He says, as coolly as he can manage, “Be honest with me. Favorite Avenger?”

“Thor,” Peter says. “Who’s yours? And you can’t pick War Machine either.”

“Captain America,” Tony says.

“Cool,” Peter says. “He was my next choice.”

“Sure he was.” Throughout the conversation Tony’s been measuring up Peter’s home-made gear: goggles, pajamas, belt, booties. Tony doesn’t know how long Peter’s been figuring out his powers by himself, but there’s clearly been multiple attempts to patch them up. They’re decent attempts, but if the kid has really been doing half as much as the Bugle says he has, then he could do so much more with a helping hand.

Tony looks at Hill. “I get to give him a Princess Diaries makeover?”

“If you’re up for it,” Hill says.

“But this is still the probation period, okay?” Natasha says.

“You hear that?” Tony says to Peter. “You can still shop around.”

“Oh yeah, nice.” Peter falls into a quick trot in following Tony towards the exit, though he glances back at Hill and Natasha a few times, as though he can’t believe this is happening. “Uh, oh, are we going to your workshop? Like, right now? Because I didn’t bring all my stuff – when Ms. Romanoff picked me up I didn’t know she was going to bring me here, so I’m kind of, like, this is just what I have on me when I go on patrol?”

“Jesus Christ, how old are you?” Tony says.

“Fifteen,” Peter says carefully.

Behind them, Hill says, “Climbing and long-jumps. Sam, maybe?”

“Or Hope.” Natasha’s next words are louder, as if calling out: “What do you think, Steve?”

Tony’s breath catches, and his body briefly contorts as though someone has just punched his funny bone. Peter makes a concerned noise, but Tony slowly turns on the axis of his heel and follows Natasha’s gaze up to the second floor balcony, where Steve is standing. Tony is pretty damn sure he wasn’t there a minute ago. Or just wasn’t _visible._

Through the rapid palpitations in his chest, Tony thinks: So what. _So what_ if Steve heard whatever he might’ve heard. His brain’s established that he’s fucked no matter what Steve thinks of him, be it pity or amusement or disgust.

Clear eyes, full heart, nothing left to lose; the adrenaline rush compels Tony to yell: “That’s fucking creepy, Steve!”

Steve jumps. His eyes widen and he says, lips clearly readable across the distance: “Language.” Then his face twitches, as though he hadn’t meant to say that at all.

Tony mouths at him, silently but clearly, “ _Wow._ ” Then he turns and keeps walking, forcing Peter to scurry to keep up.

Once outside, Peter says, “Uh. I thought you said he’s your favorite.”

“How dare you doubt me,” Tony says.

“Oh, sorry,” Peter says quickly, his voice trembling over the suppressed laugh. “Didn’t mean to, sir.”

“It’s Tony.”

“Didn’t mean to, Tony, sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

Peter’s a good kid, and frighteningly smart on top of that. At first, just talking to Peter gives Tony a heady sense of displacement, making him wonder if this is what Edwin Jarvis and his peers at MIT felt like when they had to deal with his puny underage ass who’d chafed at the limitations of age, knowledge and resources.

But that initial feeling passes, because it becomes clear that Peter’s gigantic heart and desire to do good is in fucking earnest, which makes him way more like Steve than Tony ever was.

Tony feels revitalized. While working for the Avengers is never boring, Peter is exciting in a different way – a package of intelligence and energy that speaks to long-term potential, and hot dang Shuri’s going to have a fun time when Peter eventually gets clearance to meet her. The first session in Tony’s workshop leads to a couple more over the next week or so, whenever Peter gets the chance to visit between his training with the rest of the team. Tony allows Peter to bring a friend, too; Ned Leeds, his best friend and _actual_ peer who supports and believes in him, which is so great.

Tony makes a new suit for Peter, with dynamic and interchangeable eye-pieces, and a gliding option based on Tony’s accumulated data from Sam’s flights. He helps Peter modify the web-shooters, opening up the possibilities of what Peter can do with his web-fluid. (Which Tony accepts Peter’s choice to keep a trade secret instead of patenting, but damn, son.)

It’s looking good. The plan with the Avengers has always been to add new members, and although Peter’s way outside their bell curve, it’s crystal clear that he’s going to be an asset. For now, he trains, and lives his teenage life, and keeps his neighborhood safe.

Tony adds variations of “Spider-man” to his news alerts, but Peter does his best to stay under the radar.

For the most part.

+

Tony wakes up to a news alert. His eyes are still blurry so he has JARVIS read it out to him.

“ _Possible Spider-man sighting at an interrupted bank heist_ ,” JARVIS says. “ _There was an explosion with four fatalities, all suspected to be perpetrators of the heist._ ”

“Is Peter okay?” Tony asks.

“ _He checked in with the team immediately after_ ,” JARVIS says. “ _Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff went to see him earlier this morning_.”

“Okay, good.” Tony sits up and rubs his face. “Keep me posted.”

Tony has a quick breakfast of granola and fruit, during which he sends his own message to Peter, asking if everything’s okay and if there’s anything he can do. He gets a quick reply where Peter confirms that he’s fine but not elaborating more than that. From a chatty kid, that’s unusual, though he may just need some space to process. Peter’s always gone after nothing more complicated than petty street crime, so anything with actual deaths must rattle him. Tony hopes that Steve’s got that covered.

Which Steve does! As Tony finds out a couple of hours later, when he’s elbows deep in a massive pair of gauntlets he’s repairing at Thor’s behest.

“ _Sir,_ ” Jarvis says. “ _The Captain is requesting permission to visit the workshop_.”

“Whoa, Carol’s back?” Tony says. “Rhodey failed to mention that.”

“ _No, sir. It’s Captain Rogers who’s asking._ ”

It’s a good thing Tony’s already sitting down. As it is, he has to put his soldering iron carefully in its holder and take a moment for a mental reboot.

“Captain Rogers?” Tony says. “Steve?”

“ _Yes, sir. He’s downstairs._ ”

“Okay.” Tony pushes his goggles off and does a quick scan of the workshop for anything too embarrassing. He knows it doesn’t really matter because Steve already knows the worst of him, but still. “Fine. Let him up.”

Tony puts a mint in his mouth to give him something to focus on and stop him from fidgeting. He stands, then sits, then crosses and uncrosses his legs. It seems an age before the elevator opens and Steve steps out.

Steve is by himself as he enters the workshop. Somehow Tony thought that he’d bring someone with him as a buffer. That’d make more sense, right? They’ve never had a proper conversation since Steve moved in, let alone be in the same room without anyone else around, let alone be in _Tony’s_ space where Steve has never not once visited.

Tony takes a quick breath and stands up. That’s polite, right? “Cap,” he says. “Yeah. You need something?”

There’s an empty beat between the end of Tony’s question and Steve response, as though Steve needs to take a moment, too. Maybe he does? But even so, he has no problem meeting Tony’s eye, his blue gaze sure and direct. Holy crap, he’s so handsome.

“You heard about Peter?” Steve says.

“Yeah.” Tony nods. “Not all the details, but about the heist gone wrong, yeah.”

“I went to see him, made sure he knows it’s not his fault.” Steve is standing a very respectable distance away, halfway between the workshop door and Tony; close enough that he doesn’t need to raise his voice to be heard, but no more than that. He’s in a gray cotton shirt and jeans, and his hands are in the pockets of said jeans. A soldier at rest, but perpetually on alert. The curve on the upper portion of his chest is only mildly distracting.

“That’s good,” Tony says.

“I’d like you to stop giving him any gear,” Steve says. “You can still design things and build them, but don’t give anything to him.”

Tony starts. “Why?”

“He needs a break. It’s a lot for a teenager to handle, and he needs to be able to process. He’ll continue training with us, of course, but I’ve asked him to stop patrolling as well for the time being. He’s agreed to return all the gear you’ve given him already.”

“You want to clip his wings just when he’s gotten a taste of what he can accomplish?”

“ _You_ gave him wings,” Steve says. “Literally. Before he’s even had a month of training. How old is he again?”

“I think the more interesting question is exactly how many Avengers he can literally carry on one hand at the same time.”

“Because that makes all the difference.” Steve sighs. “I know that the two of you have a creative rapport, and that’s honestly great – Peter needs the connections when we’re all so much older than he is, and it’s good to see you being excited about something—” _what_ “—but can you consider that that might be clouding your judgment?”

“Uh,” Tony says, slightly thrown by the random tangent in the middle there, “wait, judgment? Judgment on what? That he shouldn’t be grounded when he’s already feeling like crap?”

“So you’re okay if he gets killed out there?”

Tony thinks:

It’s not about putting the kid in danger. Peter’s been doing this on his own for a while, and he chose to get involved with the Avengers when he could have kept going by himself, so pulling him back like this would be effectively punishing him for that choice. Tony knows Peter’s type, too; tell him ‘no’ and he’ll find a way around it, because he sees the problems right front of him and is compelled by his giant heart and sense of responsibility to get involved. Yes, Tony’s gear may have enabled Peter to push further than he would have otherwise, and sure, Tony doesn’t know how to manage that, but surely Steve or someone else does? Is it really the best choice to _take away_ the gear that’s literally orders of magnitude safer than what Peter cobbled together for himself?

Tony also thinks: Oh god, no, he doesn’t want to get someone else killed.

Tony says: “No, of course not. I’ll stop.”

Steve’s eyebrows go up. “You’ll stop?”

“I won’t give him anything.”

Steve waits, and seems thrown that there’s nothing else forthcoming. “You promise?”

“Yes.”

“I know you’ve been giving him gear on the side. Sending ‘em straight to his home.”

“I’ll stop all of it. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s…” Steve trails off. He tilts his head, as though studying Tony, which is the last thing he wants right now. “Are you all right?”

“Yep, fine,” Tony says. “No more gear for the kid. Gotcha.”

“I’m not kidding.”

Jesus fuck, is Steve _trying_ to pick a fight with him? Tony nods quickly, wanting to get the Steve the hell out of here.

“I promise,” Tony says. “No loopholes.”

“Right. Good. Thanks for the… talk.”

 _Finally_ , Steve turns to leave. Unfortunately, his footsteps are too slow, and he even pauses for a second when he sees DUM-E, and Tony catches the surprised smile of recognition that breaks across his face. Tony might have been gained some shallow pleasure from that smile, if he hadn’t been preoccupied.

The elevator closes, taking Steve with it, and Tony scrambles off his stool in flailing for the closest trash can. The mint goes into it, so he doesn’t choke.

Tony clutches his chest. He’s sweating, and his heart’s beating way too fast. “JARVIS. JARVIS, count the—”

“ _Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen…_ ” Prime numbers, recited in an even and evenly-spaced tone, unlike JARVIS’ usual speech. Tony closes his eyes and breathes with it. He reminds himself that trying to force the panic away never works. The anchor points – numbers, in order – are there to keep him grounded, and he can take his time reaching for them.

“ _...fifty-three, fifty-nine…_ ”

“Thanks.” Tony opens his mouth and takes a deep breath, which he releases in a long, controlled exhale. “That’s the ticket. What’s the next thing on the list?”

“ _No coffee for the next twelve hours, sir_.”

Tony makes a face. “Ugh, right. Still harsh.”

What a rotten time to lose his concentration. Steve in his workshop! Should be a nerve-wrecking yet thrilling highlight of his day!

Tony can’t help wondering about the chances of Steve remembering the old workshops and noticing that he’s kept the same general layout here. It’s part of how Tony keeps track of where everything is, and there’s even a little spot that by the coffee machine that kinda harks back to the couch/coffee table corner that Steve used to sit at whenever he’d come to visit. Tony doesn’t expect Steve to _care_ , but he was always sharp about details like that. He did recognize DUM-E, after all.

Though that train of thought is dampened by the Peter-related order, and the fact that _of course_ the first one-on-one convo Tony’s had with Steve immediately turned into an argument when Tony forgot himself.

+

Tony keeps his word to Steve. He resists even when Peter starts sending messages of increasing transparency about how _sad_ he is to have his gear confiscated. Tony tries to distract the kid with new ideas, early college programs and emailing him rainy-day tinkering code for him to untangle, but they don’t seem to take.

When things come to a head, it just so happens that Tony’s not in the compound.

He’s over in LA attending a board meeting, during which he is being very very good and only checking his messages when no one’s asking him anything or looking obviously in his direction. He gets a message from Bruce letting him know that the hero team has been called out on an emergency response and that they’re bringing along the new energy weapon-neutralizing defenses that Tony’s developed for them.

Tony presses a knuckle to his temple to massage the headache away. He’s tested all the equipment and he knows that they’re ready, but he doesn’t like the team using them when he’s not on-site to troubleshoot.

The meeting ends, with the directors, secretaries and special members dispersing and/or taking time to finish up their coffee. Maria Rambeau gets up from the chair as Tony does, and leans over to peer at his phone.

“Your day job making noise?” Rambeau says.

“It figures that I’m gone for five minutes and they raid my cabinet.” Tony takes Rambeau’s offered arm, and they walk out of the room together. “I should just stay here for a week, see how they handle it.”

“I don’t think they’re the ones who get stressed when you’re away,” Rambeau says.

“Some of us thrive on stress,” Tony says. “As evidenced by the fact that you’re still doing this job.”

“That flattery only works on Rhodey. Say hi for me to him, would you?”

“Text messaging… exists?”

“But I pay you,” Rambeau says with a grin. “Might as well get my money’s worth.”

“A cruel mistress, but a truthful one.” Tony kisses her on the cheek, and Rambeau hands him off to the SI driver who’s come to pick him up.

The flight back to New York is uneventful, and Tony lands in time to grab dinner from a greasy drive-through.

This tranquility is interrupted by a fresh batch of alerts from JARVIS. These are not from official Avengers channels, but from on-the-ground news sources: a confrontation in Queens, a stretch of warehouses on fire, and Avengers sightings on the ground.

Tony quickly scans the photos that have been uploaded so far, most of them blurry. “Emergency responders?”

“ _Notified and on their way_ ,” JARVIS says.

“Green alert?”

“ _Dr. Banner did not join the away team. He’s currently in the control room with Agent Hill._ ”

“Does anyone need me?”

“ _There’s been no requests for you, sir_.”

There never are, but it doesn’t hurt to ask, especially since this is the first time they’re seeing action so close to home, which hasn’t happened since the Battle of New York. At least the lack of contact means that the gear he’s made for the team is doing its job.

Tony sits tight in his lab and plots out the recovery work that they’ll need to start as soon as possible. He doesn’t have as strong contacts in the city as he used to, but he spends some time putting together a rough plan that he sends into Hill’s inbox.

That would be that, and Tony would call it a day, except JARVIS interrupts him while he’s brushing his teeth.

“ _The Avengers have returned to base. Superficial injuries aside, Captain Rogers is in medical. He was caught in an explosion, though he’s currently stable._ ”

A cold lump lands in Tony’s stomach. “Oh, okay. Wait, why’d you tell me that?”

“ _No specific reason, sir._ ”

Tony makes a face at the mirror, in lieu of glaring at his non-bodied AI.

All Avengers and their allies get hurt, and regularly face the threat of being hurt. (Even Bruce and Thor, regardless of how they try to spin it.) Knowing this doesn’t make it easier to bear; it’s just a matter of being aware of the reality they’re in and the choices they’ve made in taking the job. The Avengers haven’t been in any huge conflicts since setting their roots down, but it’s just a matter of time. Hell, being prepared for huge conflicts is _why_ they’ve set their roots down. Tony will have to get used to hearing people (including Steve) getting hurt for as long as he decides to be here.

So Tony resists.

A few hours of sleep almost remove the temptation entirely, but his body decides to wake up when it’s still dark.

JARVIS tells him that it’s almost three in the morning, which is… a quiet time. A peaceful time. A time when there will be very few people up and about.

 _Fuck it_ , Tony thinks. He’s going to be restless until he sees Steve for himself, so he might as well do it now. He gets up, gets dressed, and makes a quick detour upstairs before heading over to the main building.

As expected, the place is still and quiet save for the background hum of machinery, and Tony makes it all the way up to medical without seeing a single person. As he creeps down the dimly lit corridor to the outpatient-style rooms, one of which has a night light on, he tries to remember who in Helen’s team might have the night shift, and exactly what kind of friendly strategy he needs to employ to buy their silence.

Then a wrinkle appears.

Just as Tony’s a couple of feet away from Steve’s room, he realizes that there’s someone else on the floor: someone who’s not part of Helen’s team and is heading towards the exact same location.

Worse still, said person spots and recognizes Tony before Tony even realizes they’re there. Tony freezes in place, thoughts racing down the list of excuses he’d composed, until he actually _sees_ who it is and all those excuses are instantly rendered useless.

“Stark,” Bucky says.

Tony swallows. “Barnes.”

Was there a memo that Bucky Barnes is on-site? Did Tony miss it? He might’ve missed it.

Much like Steve, Bucky has changed a bunch compared to the last time that Tony saw him in person. The hair, the glint of the Kree metal hand at the cuff of his leather jacket, and even the way he carries himself. He’s holding a coffee cup in one hand and a packet of chips in the other; he’s probably just returning from the vending machine down the other corridor.

“Uh, I was just...” Tony says. When Bucky narrows his eyes, Tony blurts out, “Don’t punch me, I’m old and rickety.”

Bucky blinks. “What?”

“I mean, you can punch me a little bit but your arm’s literally a lethal weapon so I’m kinda… hoping… you won’t?” If Tony were a cartoon character there’d be drops of sweat gushing over his face right about now. Tony follows Bucky’s curious gaze as it slides over to what Tony’s holding in his hands. “Ah yep, I brought a couple of books because, well, Steve liked to read when he was sick, right? So I thought he could… I was just gonna leave them here. You know. Just in case.”

“Like a librarian Santa?”

“You should take them.” Tony holds the books out. “They’re from the library, we’ve got a library in the other building. They’re not mine.”

Bucky stares for a long moment, then slowly steps forward. He arranges the bag of chips in one elbow, and uses the metal hand to somehow hold onto all three books at once. He turns them around to read their spines – two are contemporary fantasy, and one is a biography of classical composers – though nothing in his expression tells of his judgment on their appropriateness.

“It’s funny,” Bucky says. “Steve said you’re working for the Avengers, but he made it sound like a part time thing. That you’re not around that often.”

“Because I’m not,” Tony says quickly. “Around _him_ , I mean. I’m over in the other… I barely see him at all. I’m gonna go, okay? Don’t tell him I was here.”

“Why not? You ashamed or something?”

“What?” Tony takes a second to reprocess the question, filtering it through what Bucky knows about him and Steve, which is practically everything. Tony only met Bucky the few times early into when he started dating Steve, before Bucky enlisted, but from everything Tony knows about _them_ , Steve would’ve brought Bucky up to date really quickly. “I’m not – what? Ashamed? Of _Steve_?”

“You’re creeping around in the dark.”

“Because I have no right to be worried about him. I mean... obviously?” A thought occurs to Tony. “Did Steve think I turned him down because I was ashamed to be with him? I gave him a whole bunch of reasons but that was not one of them.”

“Subtext is a thing.” Bucky shrugs. “Not many reasons a guy like you would want to keep a relationship quiet in the first place.”

“You know as well as I do what the press would’ve done to him back then,” Tony snaps. “I’ve had my whole life plastered up for people to see, and you wanted your best buddy to be measured against my past flings? You okay with people who’ve never met him deciding what kind of person he is based on some random off-the-cuff thing he says when his guard is down?”

“If you were worth it, then yeah. I’dve been okay with that.”

“Well, we’ve established that I’m not worth it, so.” Tony glances at the room’s doorway. It’s so close, but there’s no chance in hell he’s getting there now. “Is Steve okay, at least?”

“Yeah. Takes more than that to bring him down.” Bucky adds awkwardly, “Mostly he just needs to sleep it off.”

“Of course. Yeah. Thanks.” Tony clears his throat. “I’m gonna go now. Throw the books in the trash if you want to.”

“You said they’re from the library.”

“I’ll get more, whatever.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, before Tony can turn on his heel. “But you still didn’t tell anybody about it – about the two of you. After you broke up and Steve got famous.”

Tony stares at Bucky, perplexed. “Right. Because riding on someone’s coattails the moment they’re successful is such a good look.”

“Hmm,” Bucky says, vague and noncommittal. “But he did prove you wrong.”

Tony starts to smile – a reflex, really, whenever he hears about or someone brings up what Steve’s accomplished. A secondary reflex Tony has is to tamp said smile down whenever anyone who isn’t Rhodey is nearby, but Bucky doesn’t count, does he? Bucky knows everything already – all of Tony’s shame, inside and out – so it doesn’t matter if he sees Tony’s pathetic fondness writ all over his face.

Also, as terrifying as the guy is, it’s nice that he’s immediately up and raring to defend Steve this way.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “But we both know he had nothing to prove in the first place, right?”

Bucky doesn’t reply. It occurs to Tony, after having said it, that Bucky might think he’s trying to get the final smart-ass word. That isn’t his intent, but it’s not like he’s _wrong_. And Bucky, of all people, knows that Tony’s right.

The serum didn’t make Steve a hero. He always was one, and the serum just gave him the means to do more.

Maybe it’s out of respect to Tony actually being right, that Bucky lets him leave peacefully.


	6. Chapter 6

In the morning, Tony sends Rhodey an ALL-CAPSLOCK message demanding to know what happened in the city, and why on earth Bucky is in the compound.

Rhodey’s reply is measured and has liberal use of emojis. He explains that Natasha was undercover following a lead and that cover was accidentally blown by Peter on his own investigation, leading into the unfortunate dust-up. The explosion didn’t come from Tony’s tech, which worked beautifully, but because the rogue group that Natasha traced were less careful with their own energy weapons. Oh, and Bucky’s helping with the investigation for reasons Rhodey doesn’t actually know the full details of, but he _has_ been helpful.

It’s all useful information, technically. But it doesn’t make Tony less irritable about the fact that he now has to avoid _two_ super soldiers around the compound.

That said, Bucky’s quiet anger was cleansing, in a way that Steve’s distance hasn’t been. Steve’s been opaque and unreadable, which has kept Tony on the back foot; by contrast there’s satisfaction in Bucky’s putting into words what Steve hasn’t.

Tony’s not a complete idiot; he’s aware that Steve might have heard their conversation in the corridor that night. Even if he didn’t, Tony hopes that Bucky relayed the gist of it, which is that there’s no fucking point in thinking that Tony’s opinion about Steve ever mattered – whether Tony was ever ashamed of him (he wasn’t) or whether Steve owed it to prove Tony wrong (he didn’t).

Though, in a roundabout way it worked out for the best, didn’t it? Look at how far Steve’s come.

But that’s justification, too. Tony was supposed to be in love with Steve (he was) but he still said such terrible things to him, and outright threw Steve’s own fears back in his face. What kind of person does that?

+

Two days after Tony’s sneaking around medical, he and Bruce are in their shared lab, reviewing the data from the encounter in Queens. The Avengers managed to get their hands on what they think is a keystone power source, similar to the arc reactor but off-world in origin. Getting the device is a coup, and may allow them to do a planet-wide scan in tracking down the weapons based on it.

It’s a strong step forward after weeks of investigation. It keeps Tony and Bruce busy, and Tony fully expects no one to bother them (Hill’s housekeeping visits don’t count) until they surface with hard solutions.

But then JARVIS announces, “ _Captain Rogers is asking if he can drop by, sirs._ ”

Bruce, bless his heart, says distractedly, “Sure, let him up.”

At least Tony’s dressed properly today. He parks himself on the chair near his five-screen monitor, and makes himself as comfortable as he can.

Steve arrives, dressed unusually in loose-fitting clothing. He’s still healing from the burns, so his skin is pink and taut, which funnily (or unfunnily?) makes him look like when he used to blow up from allergies, back in the day. Other than that, he’s looking good, and Tony suppresses an exhale of relief.

When Steve enters the lab, his eyes sweep the room and pause on Tony for the briefest moment. Or maybe that’s just Tony’s hyperawareness speaking.

“How goes it?” Steve says.

“The problem isn’t the keystone itself,” Bruce says, “but what our scanners are capable of. The majority of the signature is way outside our – Earth, I mean – usual electromagnetic range, so it’s, uh… tweaking. Lots of tweaking. And possibly a spacewalk for the satellites.”

“Hope’s on the way back, so we can start prep,” Steve says. “What’s going on now?”

“Calibration and more calibration,” Bruce says. “Tony’s working on the actual scanner, the one we’re gonna send up there.”

“Ah.” Steve nods, and watches the screens for a moment. “This is a busy time, then?”

“No, it’s fine,” Bruce says, “we’ve been at it for a while. What’s up?”

“Nothing much, just…” Steve pauses, almost awkwardly. Then he turns to Tony, who freezes on his chair. “Tony, I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Tony manages to say. He starts to get up, but Bruce waves it off and grabs his jacket.

“I’ll take a break,” Bruce says. “Don’t touch my… Well, you can touch, but just don’t mess anything up, okay?”

“Yep, sure,” Tony says. “If you’re going down, get doughnuts or something.”

Then Bruce is gone, and there’s just the two of them. Tony pushes a few items on his screen, just to have something to do, while Steve takes a spare stool and brings it over. Steve sits, carefully, and Tony braces himself. Is he going to talk about the books? Or Bucky? Or something worse?

“It turns out,” Steve says, in a tone that seems he’s going for lightness, “telling Peter to go cold turkey was not the best move.”

“Oh.” Tony perks up, to his own surprise. “Rhodey said that Peter was involved, somehow?”

“I thought I was keeping him busy with training, on and off the compound. Yet between that and school, he still managed to go on patrol. Found some shady-looking guys, who happened to be the same shady-looking guys that Natasha was working on.”

“Peter’s a good kid,” Tony says. “Takes more than an authority figure – even one he admires – to stop him from trying to help.”

“But it put Natasha, and then the city, in danger.” Steve frowns, gaze moving off to the middle-distance. “That’s on me. If I’d talked to Peter properly, it might have turned out different. Hell, he went right into it without his full gear, because I took it away from him. He could’ve hurt himself.”

“Peter’s okay, though. It turned out okay.”

“Less okay that it should’ve been.” Steve’s drumming his fingers on one knee, which has the odd effect of keeping Tony from tapping his heel restlessly on the floor. “Was that what you were trying to tell me? About clipping Peter’s wings?”

“It’s like sex, right,” Tony says, before he can stop himself. “Young people are gonna go for it no matter what you say, so you might as well give them what they need to be safe. Something like that.”

“You could’ve told me this, when I asked you to stop giving Peter new gear.”

Tony’s stomach flips. “Sorry.”

Steve stops the drumming on his knee. “I’m not asking for an apology. I’m just…” He takes a deep breath and releases it. “You have opinions. I know you do. Tell me what they are.”

“Okay.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve says in exasperation, and it’s familiar, so painfully familiar, that Tony tenses up. Steve seems to realize it, too, because he blinks, his gaze moving away from Tony’s face, as though to gather himself, before returning. It’s the first either of them has come to acknowledging that they knew each other before.

Steve continues, “If this is you being passive aggressive, that’s fine. But you’re smart, you know things, you have ideas. Heaven knows I’ve had my share of being wrong. In this case, being wrong could’ve hurt the kid. I’ve never worked with someone so young, and my first instinct is to tell him no, no way, go home and be a teenager. That’s obviously not what he needs, but I _don’t know_ what he needs. I need help figuring that out. Do you understand?”

Tony feels cold. “Yeah.”

“Peter needs a better support system, you agree?”

“Yeah.”

“And you get along really well with him, so you know how he really feels. I’m not asking you to break his confidence, but maybe… steer me and the rest of the team better, okay? You need to _tell me._ ”

“Nah.”

Steve starts. “What?”

“It’s your team, you make the decisions, I don’t…” Tony swallows. “I can’t…”

Tony is cold. His fingers are numb, or maybe they’re not and that’s just his brain not processing the signals. He stares at his knees and tries to focus.

“Tony?” Steve says, soft and confused. He sits up sharply. “JARVIS, what do I do?”

“ _Sir has a number system, if he’d like_ —”

“It’s fine,” Tony says quickly. “It’s fine, just give me a sec—”

“Tony.” Steve’s hand enters Tony’s vision, as though Steve’s about to touch him but is unsure if he should. Tony’s brain is mostly static so he moves without thinking, grabbing Steve’s arm and holding on tight.

He’s not Rhodey, but a strong arm is a strong arm. Tony wraps both hands around it, mostly over the palm and the wrist. He vaguely registers Steve trying to cover Tony’s hands with his free one, perhaps in a comforting gesture, but Tony hisses. _No! No smothering_. Steve retracts his other hand, which allows Tony to focus on Steve’s pulse under his grip.

A steady heartbeat that’s not his own, evenly spaced beats like clicks of a gear. Bodies are weird, and Tony has no idea if his own heart is trying to imitate the calmer beat, or it’s just an illusion. But it works.

It works, and Tony can breathe. He slowly relaxes, and tilts his head to the side to get the crick out of his neck.

The embarrassment at being seen like this creeps in slowly. Tony shakes it off and parcels it aside to deal with later. He lets Steve’s arm go and sits back to reach for his coffee mug, before remembering himself. “Ugh.”

Steve’s on his feet, eerily fast, and is back with a glass of water from the dispenser. He hands it over, and Tony takes it with a quiet, “Thanks.”

“You know,” Steve says gently, “Sam’s a certified—”

“Ha! No.” A hysterical grin breaks Tony’s face, and he shakes his head quickly. “Nope, no thanks. I’ve got it covered.”

“All right.” Much like his heartbeat, Steve’s tone is even and measured. Steve stands up fully and rubs the back of his neck – an old, uncertain gesture, like he used to make. “I’m very sorry about… I’ll have Maria talk to you instead.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Not everything’s about you, Steve. _This_ has nothing to do you.” Steve’s mouth slant sideways skeptically, so Tony adds, “It doesn’t. It’s ‘cause...” He sighs. Would saying it out loud bring on another episode, or does it just happen when he’s not expecting it? Whatever. “Pepper’s dead.”

Steve’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Pepper and Happy. You remember Happy? My driver?”

“Yeah, I remember Happy.”

“He’s dead, too. Both of ‘em.” Tony waits, but his breathing seems fine. “It turns out that when people close to you die because you made a bad call, that messes with your head. Guilt and an overburdened sense of responsibility, all that jazz. So when I hear about Peter possibly dying and it being my fault, the brain goes puttin’ on the fritz. Apparently.”

Steve slowly sits back down. That’s his serious, thinky face. Most magazine covers and TV footage can’t catch him in a genuine smile, but they get this one a lot. Steve nods slowly, and Tony knows that Steve’s going to watch his wording from now on. It’s irritating and embarrassing, but goddamn it it’s also a relief.

“Anyway,” Tony says, with sudden unexpected energy, “that’s pretty rich of you saying that I need to be assertive and tell you things. When have you asked since you got here?”

Steve starts. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve – never – asked. Just saying.”

“So you need an invitation now?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” Tony shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, you’re the boss.”

They both fall quiet. Tony picks at a stray thread on his dark jeans and, after finishing the rest of the glass, puts it on the nearby tabletop. Steve doesn’t fidget the way Tony does; maybe that’s a soldier thing, because goodness knows in the old days Steve’d roll his shoulders and push stray hair behind his ear to give his hands something to do. Steve’s poised now. Conscious of his body and how it moves, even when he’s in thought.

If Tony were to fall forward just a little, he’d land in the cozy-looking crook of Steve’s body, bordered by his neck, shoulder, waist and arm. Steve used to be kinda self-conscious of his bony elbows and shoulders, though they’d made really great handles to hold onto. Now he’s just a wall of muscle.

“I’m sorry about Pepper and Happy,” Steve says.

“Thanks.”

“It’s hard. Sometimes it can feel that there’s no sense in the world, and no point to anything, and because we’re human we can’t help but _try_ to find sense of it, and of our place in…” Steve trails off, almost sheepishly, when he sees Tony’s incredulous expression. “No?”

“No,” Tony says, not unkindly. “Speeches may be your thing, but it’s been a while and I’ve had a lot of time to process. It’s just the parts of my brain I can’t control that didn’t get the memo.”

Steve nods. “I guess I’m the one who needs a minute to process. _Both_ of them, geez.”

“Yeah,” Tony says slowly. “Don’t feel bad that you didn’t know, we made sure it was kept out of the papers, as part of the deal with…” He pauses, discomfited but at the same recognizing the importance of just coming out with it. “It’s in my file. I know you already got one from Hill when you signed on, but Fury has another one. A director’s cut deluxe edition, as it were. Rhodey made a deal when he agreed to take on the War Machine role; that the file would be kept to very limited eyes. I’m surprised Fury didn’t offer it to you.”

“Even if I knew it existed, I don’t think I would’ve asked for it.”

“Yeah, well, I think you should. Just to… get a fuller picture, I guess. You’ll enjoy being right, at least.”

“Sure,” Steve drawls, “that really makes me want to read it.”

Surprisingly, Tony finds himself relaxing. In the morass of white and black and grey that’s the whole world, this at least feels clearly to be the right thing to do.

“See, that’s exactly why you should read it,” Tony says. “Because you’re not the kind of person who’d say, ‘I told you so’, even when it’s really, _really_ deserving. You were right about Stane, and SI’s culpability.” Just as he was right about Tony’s unwillingness to step too far out of his comfort zone, even for the sake of someone he claimed to be in love with. “That was a good call on your part, and if I’d listened, maybe Pep and Happy wouldn’t have gotten caught in the crossfire.”

Surprise flickers over Steve’s face, and Tony realizes that Steve hadn’t connected the (admittedly unclear) dots of Stane’s manipulations to Pepper and Happy’s deaths. Not that those dots should’ve been there in the first place? Tony using the proto-War Machine suit to fight Stane shouldn’t have involved Pepper and Happy at all.

“Maybe that was an okay call at that time,” Steve says, “but I’ve made bad ones, too. Terrible ones that I thought were good but caused a lot of…” He catches the politely skeptical expression on Tony’s face and scowls. “I’m not just saying that for the sake of it.”

“U-huh.”

“What, you think I can’t be wrong?” Steve counters. “That people haven’t died because I made a mistake?”

Tony shudders, abruptly remembering the stakes that Steve deals with on the regular. “Fuck, no, I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not…” Steve rubs a hand over his face. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s just funny, I guess – I figured that more than anyone else here, you’d be the one who’d know that I’m just a guy and am as fallible as the next person.”

Tony bites his lip. Fallible he may be, but Steve was never _just_ a guy. That said, Steve’s admission highlights the weight of his role and responsibilities, and the expectations people have of him. It’s a lot – _of course_ it’s a lot. Tony needs to remember that, and put his own issues in context.

“It takes a lot out of you,” Steve says firmly. “When the ones you’re responsible for, the ones you _care_ for, are the ones to take the hit for you. I understand, because…” He hesitates, studying Tony’s face.

“Because Bucky.”

“Oh. You know about that?”

“I read it somewhere,” Tony says, as if he hasn’t feverishly followed every update on Steve’s antics.

“You know it was my fault the Kree got him?” Steve face’s twists when he sees Tony’s surprise. “Yeah. I know what the official reports say, and I know that we ultimately managed to find him again, but that doesn’t change what happened. It was my decision to board and my decision to not wait for back-up, and I’m the one who took at face-value that he was dead, when I should have been working my ass off to rescue him. So. I know very well how a bad call makes you second-guess everything about yourself.”

Steve spells it out clearly and with an undercurrent of anger, but it’s old anger that he’s turned back on himself. To be angry is better than to be sad, because anger, at least, is useful. Tony sees all of this and wishes that he could give something back to Steve, besides a useless nod that he understands.

Tony’s fingers itch so badly, though everything about Steve is so off-limits that he might as well be sitting on the moon for how within reach he is. Rhodey likes to joke that Tony has no willpower, but here it is.

“It doesn’t make us weak to still be affected,” Steve says. “Not me, and definitely not you.”

On the one hand, Tony doesn’t need Steve to offer understanding. The reassurance falls flat because they’re too different – even when Tony was a CEO he hadn’t grasped the responsibility the way he should have, while Steve took to leadership with far greater grace and respect for others. Tony regrets the burdens that Steve has to carry, but he cannot relate. Nothing in what Steve’s saying right now makes any difference to Tony’s headspace.

On the other hand, _oh,_ so this is what it’s like to have Steve as a leader, who offers a piece of himself in an earnest attempt to offer connection and comfort. It’s strange, but deeply admirable considering how Steve feels about Tony as a person. At least one of them has managed to compartmentalize, and Steve is capable of treating Tony as he would any of the other Avengers’ support staff, i.e. with patience and kindness.

Tony honestly appreciates the effort. Not only that; he admires it.

“I’ve been wrong many times,” Steve says. “That’s why I need good council, from people who know things I don’t and see things differently. That very much includes you, too. Yes, it can be hard to make any call at all when we have no idea how the chips’ll land, but that’s why we don’t do it alone. Okay?”

 _Don’t do it alone_. Is that what Steve learned out there, as he navigated interstellar battles while carrying the perceived death of the person he loves most in the universe? It chills Tony down to the core to know that Steve had to deal with that (and not that long after Tony fucked him over to begin with), though maybe in Steve’s saying so outright, he’s also sharing how he’s gotten better about asking for help and sharing his burdens with others.

Just the thought of that is… nice. Soothing, in its own way.

“Okay,” Tony says.

“How about this. Peter comes back, you get him up to speed, and then you get _me_ up to speed. Email’s fine, if you prefer. Or you could go to Maria.” Steve smiles, and though it’s still edged with (understandable) awkwardness, it’s also tentatively hopeful and is thus the sexiest thing Tony has seen all day. All week or month or year, even. “Think about it?”

“I can do that.” Tony realizes that he means it.

“That’s good. Thank you.” Steve sits back, shoulders up and back straight, every inch Captain America. It suits him so well, that Tony only barely misses the knobbly-kneed Steve that won his heart in the first place. “Bruce is taking a while.”

“Probably got into an argument with the RAs.” Tony shrugs. “It happens.”

“Oh. Well. I should get going.”

Tony admits that when Steve asked earlier if they could talk, he thought that the conversation could only end in awkwardness or anger. But, as it turns out, Steve was able to navigate an impossibly narrow window of amiability, and when he leaves, Tony merely feels a combination of impressed, thoughtful and melancholy, which isn’t unpleasant.

+

That night, after Tony brushes his teeth and crawls under his bed covers, he looks at his hands. He touched Steve today. Not in a fun way, but he still got to do it. He hadn’t let himself think about this too much earlier in the day, but now that he’s by himself, he does.

Steve’s as solid as he looks. He’s warm and strong, though these days more a stranger than someone Tony once spent hours with during late nights, confessing deep and conflicting fears of never being able to live up to Howard but at the same time wanting to not _be_ him. Steve was patient with him then, too.

Tony can’t _really_ feel Steve on his hands, but if the brain wants to convince him that there’s a phantom touch left behind, then Tony will let it. He clenches and unclenches his hands, and wonders if Steve were on a raised platform of some sort and Tony held on to his forearm, could Steve lift him clear off the ground one-armed. He probably could; he’s lifted far heavier.

The thought has Tony’s skin tingling. He makes an attempt to fight it, but it’s half-hearted.

It’s not the worst thing in the world for Tony to push his shorts down and jerk himself off to a mental mish-mash of the skinny Steve of his memories, overlaid with the captain Steve of the present.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Contains** : Non-graphic description of vomiting.

The next few days see a shift. Not a seismic one, but a shift all the same, because now Tony gets the occasional message in his inbox from Steve (!) and the one time that Tony passes by Steve and Sam as they’re walking across the grounds, Steve nods at him (!!).

It’s quite the change from when Steve couldn’t bother to look him in the eye. (Yes, Tony couldn’t look Steve in the eye either, but the emotions they’re bringing into the situation are _very_ different.) It’s not proper closure, but it’s in the same ballpark. Maybe one day Tony might even be able to make that final, really fucking belated leap into saying what needs to be said.

Tony does wonder if Steve looked up his second file like he suggested, but it’s hard to tell since there’s no sudden change in the way Steve acts around him. That said, in the greater scheme of things it doesn’t matter either way. Either Steve did and is being kinder to Tony because he knows Tony’s learned his lesson; or he didn’t and is being kinder because that’s just the kind of guy he is. Win-win, really.

Another band around Tony’s chest loosens.

In the meantime, there’s work.

There’s Peter to deal with, once he resumes visits to the compound and is a mix of flustered, sheepish and full of ideas. There are non-combat equipment upgrades to do, including the main gym that sees an overnight demolition of three reinforced punching bags – by Thor, maybe? (The memo is unclear.) There’s breakthroughs with the keystone, which finally unlocks the spectrum data they need for the planet-wide scans. There’s Rhodey, who needs massive modifications to his suit so he can be on standby as the back-up away team. There’s prep for the satellite itself.

+

On the morning of the actual installation, Tony has a spot in the control room, to the right of and just behind Hill, who’s technically their Flight Director. It’s a routine spacewalk with the Quinjet, but that doesn’t mean anyone should rest on their laurels. Tony has appropriately caffeinated himself for his tasks, which in this case involve monitoring the equipment he’s made for Bruce and Hope to install. Clear skies and an opportune weather forecast have everyone feeling optimistic.

“ _Ready to dock_ ,” Steve’s voice comes over the speakers. He’s leading the away team, which consists of Hope, Bruce, Bucky and Thor. The remaining Avengers – sans Clint, who has taken some personal time – are in the control room with Tony and Hill, either at their own work stations or to watch.

“You are go,” Hill says into her mic.

“ _Smooth sailing all the way_ ,” Steve says. “ _Thor fell asleep_.”

“ _What calumny_ ,” Thor says cheerfully.

“ _We are locked, checking air pressure now_ ,” Steve says. _“Hope and Bruce are ready to walk._ ”

“We read, Avengers,” Hill says. “How’s the green looking, Dr. Banner?”

“ _On the one hand, I have tremendous respect for everyone who thought it would be a good idea to send me up here_ ,” Bruce says. “ _On the other hand, I’m also the only one who would survive if the Other Guy decides to come out_.”

“ _No, I’ll survive with you_ ,” Thor says. “ _We will have a merry time riding Mjolnir all the way back to Earth_.”

“ _Before you decide to test re-entry, I’d appreciate some help with the module_ ,” Hope says. “ _It needs to be unshrunk before we take it out into vacuum_.”

The chatter continues, lighthearted and purposeful as Hope and Bruce step outside the Quinjet. Part of Tony’s attention is on the streams of data moving across his monitors, while another part is enjoying just being here, surrounded by good vibes and people who actually know what they’re doing. Steve’s voice occasionally coming in over the comms is a nice bonus, too.

It all looks to be going swimmingly. Tony pulls up the controls for the scanners and waits for the go to switch them on.

The last thing Tony expects at this point is for his phone to go off. JARVIS is a master at screening his calls, yet Tony’s phone is still lit up to the caller ID image of Peter with a stiff smile and huge thumbs-up against a nondescript grey background that is actually the Avengers’ training hall. Tony ignores Hill’s surprised side-eye and hits the receive button.

“ _Hi Mister Stark_ ,” Peter says, the syllables almost tumbling over each other. “ _I think bad guys are coming for the Avengers compound like, right now_.”

Tony taps a button on the phone, putting it on loudspeaker. “You want to repeat that, Itsy Bitsy?”

“ _Two trucks,_ ” Peter says, his voice reverberating in the control room. “ _Guns, like the ones the traders had the other day. I think they have an power cannon, too, but like, jimmied together from alien parts._ ”

“Sat camera?” Rhodey says.

“Primary is kinda busy right now,” Hill reminds him. “Secondary is twelve minutes from alignment.”

“J, bring up Peter’s first-person,” Tony says. A new window promptly opens on one of the screens, showing first-person footage from Peter’s suit. Sure enough, there’s the trucks, though it’s hard to tell how fast they’re coming and exactly where they are.

“Somebody was waiting for a Quinjet launch.” Natasha stands up and switches her headset for an earpiece. “Assumed that most of us are away.”

“Most of us _are_ away,” Sam says.

While Sam, Natasha and Rhodey head out, Tony says into his phone: “Mister Parker. What are you doing that you obtained this information?”

“ _Uh… I’m keeping my distance and only reporting on suspicious activity_ ,” Peter says. “ _I have definitely not tried to apprehend them myself. But even if I have, it’s before I found out how dangerous they are._ ”

“Away team, you might have to do this on your own,” Hill says into her mic. “We have a lockdown on the ground.”

“ _Roger that_ ,” Steve says.

“Code Panic Room,” Tony says. “Fun.”

“That’s not an actual code,” Hill says as she pulls a gun out from under the computer table. “But it does get the point across.”

When they planned and built the Avengers compound, they did take into the account the possibility of being attacked. They’re people of interest at a known location of interest, and although they have a swathe of security measures, they’re not military nor SHIELD. Mostly they’ve been relying on the superhero deterrent, which has worked so far.

It's a good day as any to test their defense procedures.

Hill announces the code red over the loudspeakers. Everyone should know the procedures: non-combat personnel are to get inside and hold their locations, and combat personnel are to ready themselves and check in with the ground leader – in this case, Natasha, who gives instructions over comms as she finds out what the threat is.

The control room empties as staff leave one by one, in response to requests for eyes or hands at control points. Almost everyone here has combat training and are needed elsewhere.

“So, uh,” Tony says into the comm. “Looks like it’s just me left. Science twins, how’s my baby?”

“ _Installation’s going smoothly_ ,” Hope says.

“ _I must confess that I’m considering testing re-entry now_ ,” Thor says.

“That is a negative, Blond Conan,” Tony says. “We have it covered here. You just focus on getting the scanner up and running.”

“ _I second that,_ ” Steve says, making Tony jump a little. “ _We shouldn’t half-ass it after coming all this way_.”

“ _Is swearing on comms allowed now_?” Bucky says.

“ _Only if you’re the boss_ ,” Steve says.

“ _Aww nuts_ ,” Bucky says, which has Tony stifling a surprised laugh.

The computer screens are split now, with half covering the activity on the compound, and the other half covering the away team. Most of Tony’s focus is on the away team, but there’s enough left to follow the action outside. A wiregraph image shows Sam and Rhodey in the sky, trying to intercept the attack before it reaches the compound. The chatter’s on another channel, but there’s a transcript rolling across the screen that Tony can somewhat follow.

“ _Module locked_ ,” Hope says.

“ _Punch it, Tony_ ,” Bruce says.

Tony switches the scanner on and watches it power up. “Power levels stable. Calibrating. In eight minutes we’ll know if we’re in business.”

“ _Eight minutes_ ,” Steve says. “ _Feels like eight years_.”

“Sorry, boss, we don’t have an express check-out yet,” Tony says. His eyes move to the wire grid of the compound. Despite Rhodey and Sam holding the gates, three hostiles have broken into the compound and are making their way efficiently to the warehouse. No, wait, they’re going _around_ the warehouse, and into the science building. Either they’re following instructions leaked by a mole (which Tony hopes is not the case) or they’re following something finite and discrete, like an energy signature.

“They’re after the keystone,” Tony says under his breath. He switches channel to the ground crew’s comms and says, “Natasha, they have to be after the keystone. It’s the only thing we have that’d be worth this risk in broad freaking daylight.”

“ _They don’t look like the group we met in Queens_ ,” Natasha says, “ _Less messy, different weapons._ ”

“Maybe that group stole it from this group, and now they want it back,” Tony says. “I’m just telling you, you guys haven’t done enough to inspire a home disadvantage revenge attack. Not yet, anyway. Who’s defending my building?”

“ _The science building is on pure lockdown_ ,” Hill says.

An explosion rattles the main building. Tony grabs the desk until the vibrations subside. “Let me guess,” he says wryly. “They just blew a hole in my building?”

“ _I’m on it, Mister Stark_!” Peter says over comms.

“Oh my god.” Tony switches his headset for an earpiece and as a last touch taps the mic for the away team, “Sorry, space cadets, you’re really on your own now.”

Tony doesn’t stay to wait for their reply. He’s out of the control room, and ordering safety doors to open as he runs along corridors and down staircases. He’s just made it to the ground floor when he hears a noise that seems more implosion than explosion, an eerie two-second absorption un-noise before it’s followed by a more familiar belated shockwave.

“ _I’m down, I’m down,_ ” Rhodey barks, sounding more frustrated than fearful. “ _They got me with the – okay, it is not an EMP but it sure feels like one_.”

With the science building in front of him and Rhodey somewhere behind, Tony is seized with panic. But then it passes, and there’s a calm center in Tony’s head. “Where are you, bud?” Tony says. “You gotta be nearby.”

Rhodey had enough control left in his suit to land within the compound itself, and on grass instead of asphalt. Tony runs, faster than his knee would like him to and will make him pay for later, but he gets there, to where Rhodey’s on the ground and gingerly climbing through the open panels of the suit.

“Suit’s dead,” Rhodey says. “I like the ejection, but it could be better.”

“Duly noted.” Tony grabs at a side panel to pop out the port, which he connects to his phone. “JARVIS, full reboot.”

“That’s not gonna work,” Rhodey says. “Arc reactor’s busted.”

“They made something to fuck up _my arc reactors_?” Tony says. “Goddammit, I got me some drawing board time in the immediate future.”

“At the least the range is limited,” Rhodey says.

“Sure, for _now_ ,” Tony says. “JARVIS, call a spare.”

“ _Science is on full lockdown to keep the intruders out, sir_ ,” JARVIS says. “ _Would you like an override_?”

“No,” Tony says, exchanging a rueful look with Rhodey.

“I’m going back in,” Rhodey says, turning a purposeful gaze back to the fight. “You stay here.”

It’s not so much an ‘order’ as it is a ‘suggestion by a sometimes-sensible person’. Tony watches Rhodey run off with his gun pointed low to the ground, and suddenly remembers why he came down in the first place. The science building. Peter. Hell, there’s the science _team_ , who should still be in the building right now.

“ _Uh,_ ” Peter says on comms. “ _These are not the guns we faced the other day, these are_ —”

Peter doesn’t shout or curse. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he did. As it is, Peter makes a choked-off sound, which is almost inaudible across the rapid-fire chatter of comms, except that Tony hears it because he has both hands over his ears. A different kind of panic rises, this one hungry and angry and familiar, like an old nightmare that’s been vague and shapeless for years, until it’s suddenly not.

“ _Reboot complete_ ,” JARVIS says.

Tony’s body feels sluggish, as if he’s moving through molasses, though that’s probably just his brain playing tricks on him again. Feeling halfway in a dream, halfway possessed, Tony takes the working weapon that’s closest to him.

The War Machine suit isn’t built for him. It pinches in places and is far bulkier than he’d like, but it’s functional and it recognizes the arc reactor that Tony carries with him everywhere. The HUD powers up as soon as the panels lock shut.

“ _Hello, boss_ ,” FRIDAY says.

“Hey,” Tony says. “Like riding a bike, right? Let’s, uh… Let’s find Peter.”

What happens next is a blur as Tony experiences it. It’ll only be later, once it’s over and Tony’s reviewed the security camera footage will he be able to remember in detail.

As it is, Tony flies the War Machine suit. He goes into the science building, digs Peter out from fallen debris, disarms some of the bad guys, and stops an attempt to kill the compound’s power. He does get hit and falls down at one point, but gets up with Rhodey talking him through it via the comms.

The away team return from space, only to be shot at by a deceptively small energy canon which shears one of the Quinjet’s wings clear off. Tony flies out to meet it, Peter clinging to the back of the War Machine suit, and they work together to stabilize the Quinjet from the outside – Tony holding on to the Quinjet and Peter throwing webs everywhere he can reach – so it can make at least a non-deadly landing. Thor comes out, pissed and crackling up a (literal) storm, and curb-stomps whatever’s left of the failed quasi-heist attackers.

When that’s done, Tony looks around for something else to do. He hears Rhodey in the comms, “ _Hey, Tones. What’s your landing like? Give me a look-see_.”

Rhodey’s standing on a patch of unmarked, unscorched grass in front of the main building. Tony comes down to land a couple of yards in front of him. It’s not the smoothest landing, but it’s still better than when the suit’s panels open and Tony steps out.

When his feet touch the ground, the rest of his body seems to catch up on what he just did. His legs fail him, and he falls on his hands and hurls.

All the pent-up nausea, all the coffee and breakfast bagels, all the terror he’d managed to keep at bay for as long as it took to get the job done – it comes out. Tony hurls until he’s dry-heaving, and even that doesn’t seem to be enough.

At least Rhodey’s nice enough to pet him through it. Rhodey’s awesome that way.

Tony raises his head when he thinks he’s done. His eyes are watery, but he’s able to make out Rhodey’s grin.

“No,” Tony says, “I won’t kiss you, that’s just gross.”

Rhodey laughs. He pulls Tony into a hug, which Tony accepts gratefully, though he takes care not to soil Rhodey’s shirt. Rhodey’s relief seems to give Tony permission to be relieved, too. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.

Tony eventually pulls back, and looks around. “Where’s the kid, is he—” He stops.

Standing a couple of feet right behind Tony is Steve, still breathing heavy from the fight, and one hand outstretched before Steve draws it back to his side. Tony automatically straightens his back, though there’s little chance that Steve missed Tony’s puking his guts out. Even if by luck Steve did miss it, the evidence is… right there.

“Right,” Tony says, with as much dignity as he can. “Peter?”

“He’s with Natasha,” Steve says. He has his helmet on, which makes it extra difficult to read his face, not that Tony’s been doing a decent job of that lately. “You okay?”

“Yeah, never better.” Tony rises to his feet, and Rhodey rises with him, holding onto Tony’s arm as he does. “Maybe you should, uh… Watch your step? We should get someone to clean that.”

“Tony, it’s fine,” Rhodey says.

Tony’s legs are still a little shaky, but at least he can stand. He holds a hand up to his eyes as he studies the damage around the compound. Some parts of it still had the new paint smell, even. At least this’ll give Tony a chance to suggest some of the renovations he’d been thinking about.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve says.

Tony startles. Steve’s standing really close, which it takes him a second to realize is because Steve has a hand out by Tony’s arm, as though readying to catch him in case he sways or falls over.

“Thank you for helping,” Steve says, his voice low and unnecessarily intense. “With the Quinjet, and everything else. It’s very brave of you.”

“Oh.” Tony tenses up with the realization that Steve must’ve read his detailed file by now, and knows what happened the last time that Tony put on a suit. The old suit, before it became War Machine. “Sure, yeah. I mean. You lead by example, right, Cap?”

“You should sit down,” Steve says.

Tony glances back at Rhodey, but his best friend has a hand at his ear and is talking with someone on comms. Tony swallows and turns back to Steve. “There’s clean up. Maria’s gonna need… We should at least have a look, you know?”

Through the eyeholes of the helmet, Tony can see Steve start to frown. But then it eases up and Steve says, “Okay, you should do that. Keep me updated, will you?”

“Of course, yeah.”

Steve finally leaves in a brisk jog to check in with everyone else. Tony watches him go, feeling unsettled and warm. The nausea from flying the suit is almost completely gone, though his heart’s still beating fast.

+

A handful of people are hurt, but thankfully the injuries are minor, and Helen and her team have it under control. For the rest of the day Tony makes rounds of the compound, dictating instructions to JARVIS and making a list for the clean-up crews as he goes. This pre-recovery work is, in itself, straightforward and familiar.

What isn’t familiar is getting interrupted as he’s doing it.

“Stark!” Thor says. The Asgardian is on the way to the main building, and claps Tony’s shoulder as he passes. “That was most fine flying.”

“From you, fine praise,” Tony replies. “Thanks for the round-up.”

A nice gesture, but Tony barely notices it because Thor’s just that kind of person.

But as the Avengers start coming in from all over, there’s more.

“Cool moves, man,” Sam says, nodding at Tony as he goes. “The tandem with Peter was neat.”

“Uh, thanks,” Tony says.

Not too long after that there’s Natasha, who grins at him and says, “Rhodey’s going to have to watch out for you. Thanks for the assist.”

“Sure, no problem,” Tony says, by now befuddled and dazed.

Later still, when Tony’s in medical for his own post-attack check-up (and to make sure that Peter’s bandaged and sent home safely), Maria freaking Hill takes a minute out of her busy schedule to sit down with Tony and ask how he’s doing. Tony can’t hide that he threw up, so he hems and haws right up until Hill shakes her head.

“You did good out there,” Hill says.

“The suit was just there,” Tony says. “Anyone would’ve done it, if they had the… uh…”

“Sure, if I were just talking about the suit. You were there in the control room, too.” Hill waits, watching Tony until she’s sure that he’s listening properly. “You didn’t have sign up to the initiative. We could’ve worked something out, like what Rhodey has with the Air Force.”

Tony swallows. “Yeah.”

“You’re here ‘cause you want to be.”

“Yeah.” Tony scratches his beard, realizes that he’s fidgeting, and sighs. “Thought my plate could be a little bit bigger, I guess.”

“Do you want to figure out how big that plate can be?”

Tony doesn’t want to be pushed. At least, he’d told himself for so long that he neither wanted nor needed the push, and explicitly told Rhodey so. But what’s become habit isn’t necessarily still true in the core of him. Restlessness and need got him here, and overpowered even the fear of having to see Steve again.

“I don’t want to fall behind on any of my current work,” Tony says carefully.

“Of course not.”

“Yeah.” Tony feels mildly stupid and arrogant for saying so, but Hill nods, visibly pleased. “Yeah, I want to do more.”

“All right,” Hill says. “We’ll see what we got.”

It’s not that he wants to be out there putting his neck on the line. That’s not his thing. (That’s Steve’s.) But he’s really fucking smart and lost his groove in using those smarts to their maximum, because the last time he tried to be decisive in a way that mattered, it blew up in his face and got two of his closest friends killed. It was clear, then, that Tony couldn’t trust his own decision-making, so he’d pulled back, and back, and so far back that he barely recognizes himself anymore.

But maybe, as part of a team, it wouldn’t be so bad? He could relearn things, one step at a time. It’s just like Steve said – Tony doesn’t have to do it alone.

+

Then comes the greatest surprise of all.

Tony’s workshop wasn’t damaged in the attack, so he could get back to work if he wanted. But he _doesn’t_ want to, which is a novel enough feeling that he gives in to it. He sleeps in, wakes up late, and lies in bed half-scrolling through the recovery plans and half-watching various cooking reality shows until his stomach grumbles.

When he finally gets up, he makes his way down to the currently-empty communal kitchen and dining area. It’s not as fancy as the one in the main building, but in Tony’s opinion has a great deal more personality because this place is meant to feed a dozen scientists who have (with only a few exceptions) even less sense of what constitutes proper nutrition.

Tony puts together a sandwich. He sits down and takes two bites, and that’s when the door opens and Steve pokes his head in. Tony doesn’t choke, but he certainly feels like he should when Steve immediately spots him and, instead of that being a deterrent, enters the room.

“May I sit?” Steve says. Tony’s mouth is still full, so he bobs his head in a yes. Steve pulls a chair out and sits; Tony’s willpower rears its head by stopping him from openly staring at Steve’s thighs, which seem a hair’s breadth away from ripping the seams of his khakis.

“Here’s the thing,” Steve says, without preamble. “Peter’s beat up, and I still feel bad about asking him to return his gear.”

Tony swallows, freeing his mouth to speak. “He got it back and he’s a kid. He’s resilient.”

“Even so. I would like to make up for it, and I thought about visiting his school. As in, officially. Meet and greet, maybe give a talk and walk around, visit their labs. Midtown has a really strong science component, don’t they?”

“It’s in their name.” Tony braces himself, but Steve doesn’t seem to take offense at the snark. “Yeah, I think he’d appreciate it, but you better run it by him first. Don’t make it a surprise.”

Steve nods. “If he says yes, would you like to join me?”

“What?”

“Science and tech, that’s your area.” Steve’s just pointing out the obvious. “You’d be much better than me at… you know. Asking questions. Appreciating things.”

This is much, _much_ more than just getting messages from Steve in his inbox. Thank goodness Tony has a sandwich to keep him busy as he attempts to think through the !!!! going on in his head.

“Who else is going?” Tony asks. “It shouldn’t be too big a group.”

“Ah. Uh.” A minute twitch passes over Steve’s face, too quick to be read. “I’m just asking you. Like you said, it shouldn’t be a big group.”

“Oh.”

Oh shit. Oh _shit_. Steve’s totally asking him because of how Tony rose to the occasion with the War Machine suit yesterday. Tony actually did something right for once, and here Steve is, prompt and efficient. Is this a reward thing? An attempt at connection? Is Captain America being a good leader and encouraging a potential colleague?

Holy crap, does Steve want to be _friends_? Because that is so far-fetched and amazing but not entirely impossible, and Tony would grab at it with both hands and keep it if he could. No, no, that can’t be it. There has to be some other very professional, very Avengers reason why Steve would willingly subject himself to Tony’s presence for what sounds like a few hours-worth of activity, and it can’t be because Tony’s even worse with teenagers than Steve is.

Feeling daring, Tony says, “I’m not writing a speech for you.”

Steve seems to think it over. “I think I’m better at speeches than you by now.”

“That’s totally subjective.” Tony shakes his head to clear it. “Give me a date, I’ll see what… Actually, give it to JARVIS, he’ll know.”

“Sure.” Tony fully expects Steve to leave, now he got what he came for, but the guy just says, “I know you’ve been busy, but Hope’s had a look at the data coming in from the satellite. The imaging’s phenomenal.”

“That’s mostly Bruce,” Tony says. “But if you want to say something about the hardware and how easy it was to install, I wouldn’t say no.”

They talk a little bit more, about the recovery work, what they’re going to do with the keystone, and Steve’s debrief with the World Council after yesterday’s attack. Interesting and useful topics, but safe topics, which are just what Tony’s nerves need. Even after Tony’s sandwich is gone, he makes no move to get another one because the momentum is so good, and Steve’s concerns about the compound’s security are well worth discussing.

Steve finally excuses himself at a buzz from his watch. “That should be Nat,” he says. “I’ll get back to you about Peter, all right? We’ll keep it a low-key visit.”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Oh, and uh…” Steve rises to his feet and pauses. “Your arc reactor is fine? After yesterday?”

Tony doesn’t pat his chest, but boy does he sure want to. “Yeah, it’s fine. I didn’t get hit, so. I figured that they’d assume that Rhodey was still in the suit, and think that their cannon didn’t work the way they thought it would.”

“So they wouldn’t bother to take a second shot at it,” Steve finishes. “A risk, but it paid off.”

“Yeah.” Tony frowns suddenly. “Don’t expect that regularly. That’s your thing, not mine.”

Steve grins suddenly. Tony’s breath catches, and he thinks Steve might be surprised at himself, too, because his eyes shift away for a second, before they come back to decisively focus on Tony. If Steve was intense at 100 pounds, he’s fucking deadly at twice that.

“Good,” Steve says. “I’ll see you soon.”

Then he’s gone, and Tony steeples his hands in front of his mouth in lieu of screaming into the void.

Friends! Maybe? Possibly? Tony could be expecting too much, but this certainly feels like an opening. An unexpected and fantastical opening that he cannot afford to screw up in any way, shape or form. He has to do this right. He has to make the effort.

Better yet, he _wants_ to make the effort.

He’s genuinely excited.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony may still be confused by the invitation, but he doesn’t let that confusion hamper his anticipation. Steve sends him the event details via JARVIS, and patching up the compound keeps Tony busy for the week that he has to wait for said event to come rolling around.

Steve isn’t in the compound much for this week, what with his being busy pushing bureaucratic tape in the fallout of the attack, and proving the group’s links to Hammer and another black-market weapons faction. Tony keeps up with the details as they come in, and goes out with Rhodey and Natasha to inspect a confiscated batch of experimental weapons to strengthen their case.

In the end, their planned visit to Midtown becomes a welcome break and breather – neither work nor play – while the compound is rebuilt and they get their feet back under them (again).

The morning of the day itself, Tony wakes up a little early, puts on the clothes he’d taken out of the wardrobe the night before, and takes his time with breakfast in order to calm his stomach. Steve sends a message just as Tony’s putting the bowl in the dishwasher, saying that he’s ready whenever Tony is. Tony replies that he’s going down to get his car in ten, and he’ll pick Steve up at the main lobby.

It’s surreal when Tony brings the Audi up to the main building and sees Steve standing there waiting for him. Tony’s in a jacket and shirt of dark colors, while Steve’s in a sky-blue dress shirt that’s almost the same tone as his Captain America suit. The guy knows what he’s doing, that’s for sure.

“Hey,” Steve says, as he enters the car. His phone is in his hand, and he waves it at Tony. “I’ll let them know we’re coming?”

“Sure.” Tony puts the car in gear, and they’re off. “Not wearing a tie?”

“They look too formal on me. I know some people can make it casual, but I’m not one of them.” Does Steve mean Tony? He might mean Tony. “Don’t want to be too intimidating.”

“Just intimidating enough to let those kids know that Captain America wants them to stay in school, right?” Tony says, which earns him an amused huff from the passenger seat. “I hear you.”

They share small talk – light and mostly meaningless. Steve complains about the Attorney General, Tony regales his more memorable Hammer anecdotes, they discuss places the Avengers can shave crucial minutes for quick team responsiveness, and the like. The conversation sputters out a few times, but Tony’s music keeps away any awkwardness for the rest of the journey.

They arrive at the school without fanfare. The only notable aspect is the parking spot reserved for Tony’s car, while the science teacher – Harrington something? – welcomes and leads them into the building.

There’s no press, and the only photographers present are students who work for the school paper. They’re introduced to the principal and brought to the school gym, where Steve gives a speech to rows and rows of students. Tony, meanwhile, tucks himself between the teachers gathered by the bleachers to listen. It’s a safe, pedestrian speech – about the greatness that exists in everyone, and the importance of courage to nourish that greatness – but it’s elevated by how much Steve believes in what he’s saying, as much as he believes in everyone who’s listening.

Tony is swept up in it. Right there, up on stage, is the passion he saw in Steve all those years ago, but polished to full clarity. Tony’s done his fair share of speeches and TED talks, but those were all about himself – what he’d achieved and what he wanted to do, as opposed to what the person listening might want out of it. Steve takes of himself and sends it out to others; Tony used to take what comes from others to feed himself.

He can do better. He _is_ doing better. It’s a trick of the mind to look back and only see where he’d gone wrong, when he could just as easily look back and see what he’s achieved since then. Tony needs to remember this more often.

Tony stifles a laugh, suddenly remembering his fumbling attempts years ago to pep talk Steve into sending his resume to all those places that ultimately rejected him. Steve never lacked for determination back then, but he’d not yet mastered the art of getting the world to pay attention. Now look at him.

Is it possible to be so goddamn incandescently happy for another person? Tony certainly feels so.

The speech comes to a close, and Tony joins the applause. The principal walks with Steve off the stage, and Tony steps up to join them, where he just catches the principal’s explaining of the tour they’re going to bring them on.

“…through the workshops, and I have to warn you that some of these kids will have a lot of questions, or no questions at all,” Principal Morita says.

“That’s fine,” Steve says. He looks up as Tony reaches them and for a second there his eyes flicker and stay, as though some weight holds his gaze to Tony. Are the stars in Tony’s eyes so obvious? Even if they are, Tony can’t bring himself to be embarrassed.

“But before we get to that,” Principal Morita says, addressing both of them now, “our school journalists would like to have maybe fifteen, twenty minutes of your time?”

“Of course,” Steve says, smiling over at the flock of lanyard-wearing teens nearby.

Tony starts looking around, searching for Peter or Ned, but is drawn back by Steve’s nudging his arm. “Hmm?” Tony says.

“Do you want to join us?” Steve says. “Could be fun.”

“We’d love to have you, Mister Stark,” says one of the teenagers, a blonde girl with tidy hair held back by a headband. Her proto-journalist smile and posture is impressively bossy and self-assured, and Tony finds himself nodding.

“Yeah, okay,” Tony says with a smile. “Where are we doing this?”

The interview turns out to be kinda fun, because the motley crew of teenage journalists are a magical combination of woefully unprepared and highly enthusiastic, which results in a session that’s more Dadaist improv than hard-hitting Q&A. Steve talks about which animals could be good pets if they could ever be domesticated, Tony describes his favorite styles of sunglasses, and a solid five minutes of the ‘interview’ are spent recording soundbites that the recording crew want to use in their daily news announcements.

“We’ll use them slowly and sparingly,” Betty Brant tells them. “Overexposure helps no one.”

“You won’t edit the audio into inappropriate combinations, will you?” Steve says, turning a stern eye from one student to the other. “Misrepresentation is not a joke.”

“No, sir,” Jason says, while the others agree quickly.

“Because you’re only allowed to do it if it’s really funny,” Steve says. “Otherwise I’m going to get Tony to hack into your equipment and erase everything.”

Four pairs of wide eyes swing from Steve to Tony, who shrugs and says, “Cap’s joking. _Or is he?_ ”

After that, there’s a tour of the school by various teachers in relay. Tony has the completely unfounded suspicion that Morita planned for only one teacher to take them around, but trying to choose who that would be threatened to turn the teacher’s lounge into a bloodbath. As it is, Steve and Tony are shuffled from one room of interest to another, shown various projects and chat with various teachers and students.

They finally get to see Peter and Ned, when they’re with the rest of Harrington’s decathlon team. Peter is still, by choice, keeping his identity as Spider-man a secret, and has been using an internship with SI as a cover story for his training and patrol time. This limits how Steve and Tony can interact with him in public, though their visit provides him with instant social cache because apparently some of the other students hadn’t believed in the internship story. Which is, to be fair, _actually_ a lie.

Overall, it’s a nice way to spend a couple of hours. Tony gets to watch Steve ooze inspiration and charisma on everyone, and Tony gets some inspiration of his own from the Youth of Today. (He puts a note in his phone about expanding SI scholarships and _real_ internships.)

“Ugh,” Tony says as the last of the teachers finally allow them to leave the building. “Fun as that may be, what wouldn’t I do for some decent coffee and a baked good. Goods? Good, singular?”

Steve hums. “Want to get coffee nearby?”

“Okay,” Tony says without thinking.

+

Tony drives, and Steve picks the place. They end up in an offbeat café with few customers, loud-but-not-too-loud music, and a corner booth by the window that’s just right for their needs. Tony’s expectations for the actual coffee are moderate to low, so he’s pleasantly surprised when Steve brings two tall cups and a plate of pretzels to their table and hey, they’re not bad.

Though Tony does get two decent gulps in him before talking. “Haven’t done that in a while. Forgot how much it takes out of you. Me. People like me.”

“What, I can’t get tired?”

“You literally got injected with no-exhaustion juice.”

“I get tired,” Steve says.

And Tony was doing so well, too. “Sorry, of course you do. I didn’t mean that you don’t, or can’t. It must suck if people expect you to be switched on all the time.”

“You’d know.”

“Too long ago, don’t really remember. Also, I do not literally go off-planet to pick fights with people.”

“Only people who are not nice,” Steve says, which has Tony slacken in relief.

They drink their coffee, with Steve going slower at it than Tony is. The atmosphere is not exactly relaxed – not like it’s with Rhodey, or how it used to be with Steve – but it _is_ comfortable, as though they’ve found that delicate midpoint of the balancing act that is… whatever their current relationship is. Colleagues? Colleagues with massive baggage, where neither knows how much of the other’s baggage is still relevant? Hard to put that on a mug.

“Peter’s a good kid.” Steve’s small smile is aimed at the window, not Tony, but it’s like the goddamned sun rising over the mountaintop. “Smart and chatty, too, which sure reminds me of someone.”

“Ha. I think you mean, he has a huge heart and throws all of himself into righting any injustice he sees, no matter what people say he can or can’t do. Which is more someone else, if you ask me.”

Steve makes a small noise that could be an acknowledgement or a disagreement; it’s unclear. He masks it even more by raising his mug to take another slow sip.

Here’s the chance that Tony’s been wanting. It’s a chance that he never thought possible, and never tried to _make_ possible. It’s been so long that he’d convinced himself that the only person to benefit from it would be himself, but is that true? He won’t know until he brings it up.

What’s the worst that can happen? Tony has a couple of ideas of what that could be – shouting, embarrassment, someone storming out of here – and he thinks he can handle it. He’s finally ready to handle it if he has to, anyway.

“So.” Tony adjusts his glasses. “I don’t know if you remember – well, you probably remember, but that’s also me assuming, which may or may not be a good idea. But a long time ago, I said some, uh. I said some pretty shitty things to you.” Steve’s full attention is on him now, and his eyes have widened the more the words came out of Tony’s mouth, but he presses on. “I just want to say that I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Steve doesn’t immediately reply. He doesn’t do much of anything else, either, and sits almost as still as a statue save for the slow heave of his (massive) chest. He’s surprised, which is understandable. Steve may not have been dancing around the issue, which may not have been an issue to him at all, but Tony has. It’s the elephant in the room; an old wrong not yet laid to rest.

“You don’t have to—” Tony starts.

“I know why you said what you did,” Steve says. “You didn’t want me to enlist.”

“Okay, no,” Tony says, shoulders knotting up, “that’s not the point.”

“It is. You were afraid that I’d get myself killed, so you decided to cut me down to size, in the hopes of convincing me that I couldn’t do it. You didn’t really mean what you said.”

That’s an old lesson of Howard’s that Tony failed to _not_ internalize, and has regretted since. Steve isn’t wrong, but frustration still rises in Tony. “Dammit, Steve—”

“It’s so long ago, it’s fine.”

“I don’t believe that.” Tony realizes how true this is, now that he’s looking Steve in the eye. Before, Tony could only spiral in second-guessing Steve’s thoughts – did he still even care, after all these years? But now Tony knows that it makes no difference if Steve still cares or not. _Tony_ still cares, and has to put that right for his sake as much as for Steve’s.

“You can believe whatever you want,” Steve says.

“You saying it didn’t hurt that I turned out to be just like everyone else? You had a ring in your hand, and there I was, saying that you wouldn’t amount to anything just ‘cause you were…” Tony stops and lets that hang. He sees the tic in Steve’s jaw, and knows it landed. “See, it doesn’t matter whether I meant it or not. It matters that I _said it_. Me, to you. When I damn fucking well knew better.”

“I think it hurt you more than it did me, in the end,” Steve says slowly. “I said some crappy things about you, too.”

“But I did it on purpose, to fuck you up. I wanted you to feel that you weren’t good enough, when that was so, _so_ far from the truth.”

“Then I forgive you. I’ve forgiven you for a while.”

“Bullshit.”

“Oh, you’re gonna tell me how I feel? You wanna try that again?” Steve clenches his jaw, a challenging glint in his eye. “Go on. But I’m not gonna hold a grudge just ‘cause you’re holding one against yourself.”

“You know what,” Tony says, the frustration in him coalescing, “you’re only saying that because you feel sorry for me. I’m—” _old, tired, damaged_ , “—slightly less cool than I used to be, so you can afford to be magnanimous or whatever.”

“Why are you picking a fight about this?” Steve’s fidgeting, too, where his hands move restlessly under the table, though Tony doubts anyone who isn’t him would be able to see it. “Why does it even matter anymore?”

“Oh my god, you’re doing the thing,” Tony says in disbelief. “You’re doing the thing where you’re pretending you’re not mad.”

“I _am_ not mad.”

“You are, you’re so mad. At me? Are you mad at me like right now, or mad at the things I said—”

“Fucking hell, Tony,” Steve says through gritted teeth, “if you didn’t want me to – to be – why’d you ask me to read your file? You know damn well what’s in it because you _lived_ it, and you expect me to still be angry with you?”

“I don’t know,” Tony says, triumphant at finally getting a rise out of Steve, “thought maybe you’d appreciate that I finally understand what you’d been talking out?”

“What?”

“You know, I’m too comfortable, I don’t see things, I don’t understand what SI was putting out into the world? Learned that the hard way, yeah?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Are you seriously suggesting that you thought I would be _happy_ with what happened to you?”

“You’re an active soldier, Steve. What’s a few months in a cave? You’ve seen things I would never—”

“You better stop that sentence right there.”

“Okay. Okay! When you put it like that, it sounds awful, but… I just needed you to know that you were right, okay?” Tony says plaintively. “That’s proof, stronger than anything else I can give you, that you were right, and I was wrong, and everything I said about you can just as easily be tossed away. It’s not like I could come out and just _tell_ you I’m sorry.”

“You literally did that five minutes ago.”

“Well, I didn’t think I’d ever get to sit with you over coffee ever again, so.”

The fight dissipates. They look away from each other, then back. Tony makes a face at his near-finished coffee and wonders if he has enough energy to get another one.

“I wasn’t right, though,” Steve says, breaking the silence. “I only thought Stane was a manipulative asshole who was maybe double-dealing and stealing from you, not that he’s a fuckin’ sociopath who’d arrange to have you kidnapped and tortured, and try to _kill you_. If I thought any of that I – I wouldn’t have…” Steve carefully pushes his coffee mug a few inches to the right, as if to avoid breaking it. “I would have come for you. You know that, right? If I was still on Earth when they took you?”

“’Cause that’s just the kind of guy you are,” Tony says softly.

“I damn well hope so.”

“Well, you shouldn’t feel bad about that either. Not saying that you are, but _if_ you are, you shouldn’t be, because Stane totally waited until you were off-world before doing that. So there’s nothing you could have done.”

Steve seems to be attempting to glare a hole into the table.

“And I did rescue myself by making the proto-War Machine, thank you very much.” Tony sighs at Steve’s ugly twist of his mouth. “I didn’t ask you to read the file to make you upset. Just ‘cause some bad stuff happened, that doesn’t cancel out the mistakes I’ve made – with SI, with you, with the people who trusted me with their safety and livelihood. I can only hope that I’ve learned from all of it and tried to do better. Telling you about it is like… affirmation, kind of? That it all worked out.”

“Did it?”

“We do try to make sense of the tragedies in our lives,” Tony echoes back at him.

Steve nods, and finally smile comes out of it – small but genuine. “Your work with War Machine alone speaks volumes, Tony.”

Tony bobs his head, ever so modest. “Thanks.”

“Was last week the first time you wore a suit since…?”

Since Tony wore the suit that he used to fight Stane, who was in his own War Machine rip-off suit. The fight shouldn’t have happened in civilian space, but it did, and Tony should’ve ordered Pepper and Happy to get clear instead of calling them in to help, but he didn’t. They saved the day by overloading the arc reactor, but were crushed in the building’s destruction. There’s even footage of it in the HUD but Tony hasn’t watched it; it was enough for his brain to futz out over the ten-ish minutes of his crash landing.

Tony didn’t find out what happened to them until Rhodey told him later in the hospital. One bum knee and a back that acts up sometimes are comparatively small legacies from the whole affair. Well, _that_ , plus the mess in his head and no one being around to save SI while Tony was in traction. Rhodey tried his best, bless him, but there’s only so much conflict of interest one man can wrestle on his own.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Not bad, right?”

“You fly better than I do,” Steve says, with such earnestness that Tony’s face grows warm. Another patch of quiet space settles over them, and Steve draws the mug back into his hands and toys with the handle. His hands may be larger now, but they seem to remember when they weren’t; there’s still elegance and care in every movement.

Steve says, almost hesitantly, “That was all a while ago. Now you have the War Machine suit, the Avengers, maybe an actual mentorship with Peter and others. It’s good work. Are you happy now?”

“I’m not quitting, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Steve gives him a look that’s so wry that Tony can’t help snorting under his breath.

Is he happy? What does that even mean? He’s not peak healthy but he doesn’t need to be; he has his music, movies, tech, food, and outlets for creativity. He has Rhodey. He makes a difference, both via the Avengers and his softer hand with SI, because making Rambeau CEO was the best suggestion Rhodey ever made.

He gets to watch Steve be the best that he can be, and up close now instead of at a distant remove. That _definitely_ makes him happy.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Can’t complain ‘bout anything but Barton’s being an ass and getting crumbs all over my workshop.”

“I’ll talk to him about that.”

“Please don’t, I don’t need the rep of being a snitch.”

Steve’s amused flash of a smile makes Tony’s calves tense up. It starts to sink in that it’s actually true, i.e. that Steve has forgiven him, without pretense nor pity; bygones and all. There was always the possibility that Steve let go ages ago, and it made just as much sense that he could’ve forgiven and forgotten when he went out into the wider universe and faced matters of much greater consequences, and it’s only Tony who felt any sort of residual burden. Which is fair.

Then again, Steve used to pretend so hard that nothing hurt him. Not anything anyone said about him, or his looks or ideals, or his hopes for a better world.

“Just ‘cause you can’t stay mad, doesn’t mean the hurt doesn’t count,” Tony says.

“You still harping on about that?” Steve says dryly. “It’s been, what, eight years?”

“You counting?”

“Are _you_?” Steve sighs. “Okay, fine. Yes, it hurt. But not the way you think. When you started going on and on, I saw right through it. I know – _knew_ – you, so of course I knew when you were talking out of your ass. What hurt wasn’t what literally came out of your mouth. What hurt was that you didn’t…” He pauses, swallowing. “That you couldn’t do me the courtesy of telling the truth. After everything, you couldn’t even do that, and instead you put one of your goddamned masks on and turned my own fears back at me, as if I was some… some stranger trying to play you. _That’s_ what hurt.”

It’s Tony’s turn to stare at the table. That makes sense. Of course it makes sense.

Took all this time to get here, and Tony didn’t even apologize for the right thing.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says.

“I know that, you don’t have to—”

“Fear made me lash out,” Tony says firmly. “I was afraid of losing—” _you_ , “—everything, but I couldn’t make myself say it. I’d already told you that I didn’t want to marry you, so what else could I do to stop prevent you from volunteering? Might as well go all in, be as shitty as possible, as long as it’d stop you.”

“So it really was two different things,” Steve says slowly, as though confirming an old suspicion. “You didn’t want to marry me, whether or not I was going to enlist.”

“Yeah.”

“May I ask why?”

“Uh, I was actually telling the truth about that one?”

“Seriously? We were going too fast?”

“Yeah? Twenty-four’s like, you got your whole life ahead of you. And older I may be, but only in body, not in spirit. We weren’t together for even a year, and that was still the longest relationship I’d ever been in, you know? So marriage was… way out there.”

“Huh.” At Tony’s questioning sound, Steve continues, “I thought maybe Stane convinced you I was after your money or something like that.”

“Oh, he tried to say that,” Tony scoffs. “He knew you were gonna propose and tried to ‘warn’ me. Said someone saw you buy the ring, which in retrospect was just him being fucking creepy and having you followed.”

“What a prick,” Steve says venomously.

“Yeah, so he did the whole thing. Said you’re too young, too desperate, and it’s obviously some attempt to keep me on a leash while you went off to make your fortune, yada yada yada. I did not pay attention.”

“So you knew I was going to propose.”

“Oh yeah. I wasn’t…” Tony’s throat tightens at the pinch and release around Steve’s eyes. Steve’s gotten so much better at hiding how he feels. “I wasn’t going to say yes, no matter what. I just did it the wrong way because I was scared, but that doesn’t mean it’s—”

“No, it’s fair.” Steve exhales slowly, and casts a rueful smile at Tony. “I was determined at the time, but yeah, too fast. I think I wanted to have something tangible to hold on to, and to fight for. Which, now that I think about it, might not have been the best mindset to have been in.”

The sting is unexpected. Tony has no right to feel it because he was never going to say yes, but hearing Steve agree that the proposal was a mistake is a little… well. Tony hadn’t wanted to get married, and especially not with Steve about to throw himself to the heavens, but it was nice to believe that someone like Steve could want him like that. Even if only for a little while.

On the bright side, this just confirms that it was all for the best, because even if Tony said yes, the whole thing would’ve been flawed from the start. Plus Tony might never have stopped wondering if Steve only asked him because Tony was the first person he’d dated seriously. Look at Steve now – his prospects are so vast, and people can _see_ what he’s capable of now.

“People have and do get engaged for stranger reasons,” Tony says.

“That’s true.”

Steve isn’t angry anymore, but the pensiveness that follows is hard to decipher. Tony searches Steve’s face for relief or at least freedom from an old burden, because there’s not much else that Tony can offer him at this point. Tony’s delivered the long-owed apology, and now Steve can take cold comfort that there was nothing he could’ve done differently, because Tony was never going to accept his proposal, so… what else is there?

Friendship, Tony hopes. Friendship would be really fucking spectacularly amazingly cool.

What was it that Tony told himself he had to do? Oh, right. _Make an effort_.

“You’re not allergic to shellfish anymore, right?” Tony says. “I assumed, but…”

Steve shoots Tony a confused look. “Yes, that’s right.”

“’Cause, like, there were mussels at Sam’s birthday thing a while back, yeah, and I randomly had the thought – wouldn’t it be hilarious if Captain America could still be downed by anaphylactic shock?”

For a second Tony thinks it didn’t land, but then Steve says, his face barely changing, “It’d be funnier if it turned out I’m only allergic to Earth-based materials, and my immune system was always perfectly fine with other planets. It’s just Earth shellfish, Earth down, Earth dander…”

“That would be _amazing_. Not the case, though?”

“No. And I’m allergic to this gold-like metal on Bingbare. Gives me a rash.”

“You’re messing with me.”

“To be fair, the metal just outright burns the skin off most humans.” Steve’s relaxed a little, softness returning to not-quite-smile shape of his mouth. “So a rash is a pretty good response, comparatively.”

“What about them Earth-based allergies? All gone?”

“Yes.” Steve frowns as he thinks. “As far as I know, from the blood work.”

“Surely you took the new ‘n improved body out for a spin. Spins. As many spins as is humanly possible.”

“Kinda busy,” Steve says, dry but far from offended. “Battles to fight, imperialist societies to overthrow. You know. Day job.”

“Aww, so you did become a workaholic.” Tony swallows a triumphant yell when Steve laughs under his breath. “I always knew you had it in you.”

“Did you?”

“Sure, you had all those early years to ‘make up for’,” Tony says, adding the air quotes with his fingers. “Once you were loaded up with coal, it’s full steam ahead.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Something else passes over Steve’s face, almost too quick to be read. “Not much time for anything else.”

“How are you not burned out?” Tony says. “The serum takes care of that?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Steve says, his eyes on Tony as he shakes his head. “I preferred to keep myself busy.”

 _Ah_. So Steve threw himself into his new role as Captain America in order to avoid thinking about how much Tony hurt him. It’s a sound strategy, and one that Tony has employed himself on other occasions.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t sting to know this. If anything, Tony finds it darkly amusing, because here Steve is being willful and relying on double-meaning just like he used to in the old days. For all that Steve used to complain that getting Tony to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth, Steve wasn’t that much better; it’s just where Tony used to deflect and be very obvious about it, Steve would say things without actually _saying_ them. Tony’s conclusion back in the day was that it was a reflex Steve developed to deal with constant rejection, but it’s funny that despite Steve becoming who he is today, he can still call back on that old reflex.

Would it be arrogant of Tony to wonder if that it’s just the effect _he_ has on Steve? Maybe.

“Well, you’re not really doing that anymore,” Tony says. “Unless you count hustling Natasha and Sam at pool as ‘keeping busy’.”

“I think you’ll find that that counts as team bonding and morale building.”

“So you can build team morale by messing with allergens. Make a list of everything that you knew you were allergic to, get Sam or Natasha to record it while you make educational narration, and expose yourself to them in systematic order.”

“That does sound like something Sam would be into.”

“I’m a genius, that’s why I got hired.”

“Oh is that why?” Steve says with a laugh.

“Yeah, it’s in my resume and everything. And before you say anything, I really do have one.”

“Don’t knock…” Steve trails off when his phone, sitting on the table, buzzes. He flips it over and scans it quickly, his brow furrowing.

“Time to head back?” Tony says.

“Yeah. You don’t mind?”

“Mind? My dude.” Tony spreads his hands out, gesturing at the coffee, and the two of them, and the rest of the day that they’ve had. “This has been fun.”

Steve narrows his eyes, mock suspicious. “Fun?”

“I do remember what that is. Yes, this was fun. And… overdue, I guess?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Speaking of overdue? Thanks for the books. The other day.”

“Oh,” Tony says, surprised. “Bucky didn’t throw them in the trash, then.”

“Hah. No, he didn’t.” Steve’s a little stiff, not that Tony blames him. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Tony watches Steve’s face, and adds, “Please don’t feel weird about it. I just heard what happened and thought it might get boring while you were recovering.”

“Oh don’t worry, I get it. Thank you.”

They get up and shuffle out from their seats, Tony a little slower than Steve. Of course, Steve being the gentleman he is, he hangs back and isn’t too obvious about his readiness to help. Luckily, Tony doesn’t need any this time, and they make it all the way back to the car without incident.

Once they’re inside the car and the engine’s revved, Steve says, easy as anything, “You should come over to the main building more often. If you want to.”

There it is, that’s what Tony hoped for. Not the invite itself, because nothing will stop Tony from entering any building he’s decided that he has to, but the admission that Tony’s presence is acceptable instead of tolerated. The wording, too, soothes Tony’s frayed nerves – an explicit promise feels more easily broken or faked, but an implicit one can be redeemed at any time and _in_ Tony’s own time.

Not perfect closure, but it’s still pretty damned spectacular. Gratitude thickens Tony’s throat, but he has enough sense of mind to offer a mild reply of, “Yeah, okay. Any excuse for exercise, I suppose.”

Steve takes it with an amused huff, which warms Tony further.

It feels good.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have failed to keep up with the comments, but please know that I ♥ y'all.

Tony doesn’t push it, because he’s not an idiot. Steve may be okay with having him around, but that’s no reason to annoy the shit out of him and get that okayness rescinded. Hence, in the couple of days that follow their visit to Midtown, Tony is careful and circumspect about how he pokes at the shape of whatever their new relationship moving forward is going to be.

He doesn’t seek Steve out for the heck of it, because he’s not going to be creepy like that. He does strike up conversation whenever they cross paths and invites Steve into the warehouse to check out some new big-scale goodies for the team, and it goes well. However, the one time that Tony pops over to the main building, Steve isn’t around (though Thor is, and is glad to have someone to watch beauty pageants with and explain the national costumes portion to him) and it throws off Tony’s groove so much that he decides not to try it again for the time being.

It figures that as soon as Tony makes that decision, outside forces intervene. Specifically, one outside force named Carol Danvers, who’s making a stopover on Earth and has decreed a full inspection of the up-and-running Avengers compound, with especial attention to whatever food is available on-site.

Rhodey, of course, complains about the last-minute arrangements, but that’s a piss-poor cover for how stoked he is to see her again. Maria Rambeau unfortunately can’t come over for the evening, though she and Carol have their own separate plans anyway. Everyone else, though, is full game for the evening – Avengers and ancillaries alike, including T’Challa and Shuri whom have effectively self-invited themselves but insist in keeping with the original theme of it being a ‘casual’ dinner, with no greater expectations than a gathering for friends and co-workers to chill.

Sure.

With that many superheroes in one place and only a handful of outsiders to buffer the effect, it’s only a matter of time before some of ‘em start proclaiming dares and demanding the superpower equivalent of arm-wrestling.

For that reason alone, Tony doesn’t bother making a late appearance. On the night itself he heads over to the main building at precisely the suggested gathering time (6.30 pm), and finds the common area already alive with activity but not yet full to bursting.

Steve’s already there, too. He sees Tony step through the elevator and is so clearly pleased about it that for a half-second Tony forgets that he can’t kiss the smile off Steve’s face (though Tony luckily recovers in time).

“You made it,” Steve says.

“I’m just next door, Steve,” Tony replies.

“Which is why you come over all the time, sure.”

“Hush.”

Steve ushers Tony in, and points out the spread of takeaway and delivery across the dining table. Natasha’s sitting cross-legged on the back of the couch, Clint’s concentrating really hard on getting the TV remote to do something mysterious, and a gaggle of teenagers feat. Peter Parker have mobbed Carol and are taking pictures with her.

Luckily, Carol manages to extricate herself safely and come over to say hi to Tony.

“Hey, Mister Mechanic.” Carol takes the squeezing hug, and ignores Tony’s groan when she pats the top of his head. “I got that package you asked for.”

“Earth customs thanks you for not breaking any laws,” Tony says. “Where is it?”

“You think I’m dumb enough to give it to you before you’ve helped me decimate all the garlic bread?” Carol says. “Work for it, Stark.”

“There’s garlic-ish bread in space,” Steve says.

“Not the same and you know it.” Carol’s gaze lingers on Tony, curious and then thoughtful. “You look good.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, stroking a thumb across the jacket he had dry-cleaned just for tonight. “Made the effort for you.”

“Hah!” Carol grins. “No, there’s something… When’s the last time I was on Earth? Right, the thing with Talos, hmm. It looks like this new gig is really working for you.”

Tony is a master at willpower, in that he does not look in Steve’s direction at all. “Beats having to deal with just Rhodey all the time, I figure. Wait, that reminds me, has Shuri arrived?”

“I think they’re still freshening up upstairs,” Steve says.

“Peter needs to meet Shuri,” Tony says. “Stat. Get on that.”

“Noted and will do,” Steve says good-naturedly.

“Thor’s not here yet, either?” Tony says with a quick look around. “We need all the space blondes together, and then the kids will really freak out.”

As more people arrive, conversations thicken and splinter and reform as the subgroups merge and unmerge. There’s laughter, food and picture-taking, but the atmosphere stays casual and relaxed. Tony moves around with the flow, though he eventually reaches saturation point and seeks sanctuary at the TV area, where he squeezes into the space next to Bruce in the overstuffed loveseat.

“Sure, no one’s sitting there,” Bruce says after Tony’s already made himself comfortable.

“Just don’t green out on me,” Tony says. “Don’t want to get squished.”

“I can’t promise anything.” Bruce has a plate in one hand and is still eating, though it speaks to his skills that he barely paused as Tony sat down. Tony’s not that full but he doesn’t feel like eating anymore, and would rather give his back a rest by slouching in the seat, his head resting on Bruce’s shoulder. If Tony’s lucky, he won’t have to move for the rest of the evening.

“Hey, so,” Bruce starts, “Natasha said you might be doing more frontline work with the team, maybe?

“If you just want me to hang out with you more, you only need to ask.”

“Wow, Tony, it sure would be nice if you’re around more.” Bruce nudges Tony’s side with his elbow. “There, did that work?”

“I guess I can sit in the control room with Hill. Could be fun.”

“I’m still waiting for it to be fun to let the other guy out,” Bruce says with a sigh. “Maybe it never will be, but that’s not the point. The point is what needs doing and what _we_ can do.”

Tony shimmies deeper into the space between the seat and Bruce’s side. “Seven out of ten for the pep talk. Most of that’s for sincerity.”

“Plus it’ll free Hope up to stay in San Francisco.”

“And now we get to the mercenary part,” Tony says with a grin. But on a serious note, Bruce has settled well with the hero team despite his odd position in it, as a non-fighter with the deadliest semi-loose-cannon fighter on perpetual standby. Whatever Tony chooses to do cannot be stranger than that. There has to be a niche somewhere than he can and will fill.

“And the company’s not bad,” Bruce says.

“Raucous, too,” Tony says, just as Thor, Carol and Rhodey’s three-way shit-talking shouting match hits a crescendo somewhere in the background. “What are they fighting about now?”

“Does it matter?” Bruce says.

Natasha climbs over the back of the couch and drops onto the seat, a bowl of miraculously unspilled popcorn in her lap. “If the Avengers count as an organization that can have off-planet chapters, and if so, who’d be the best rep to lead an off-planet chapter.”

“Why would there need to be off-planet Avengers?” Tony says. “Get your own team name.”

“Technically, the name’s Carol’s,” says Sam, who’s at the other end of Natasha’s couch. “That makes it her call.”

“So by default,” Bruce says, “she’d be the best representative.”

“’Best Avenger’ doesn’t equal ‘best representative,” Tony points out. “Like, Rhodey’s the best Avenger, but I don’t know if he’d be the best representative.”

“You are wrong,” says Clint, who’s sitting on the floor by the coffee table. “For starters, you’re mixing ‘best’ with ‘favorite’.”

“That’s practically the same thing.” Natasha throws popcorn at Clint, then looks up as Steve and Scott appear around the other side of the sitting area. “Best Avenger and favorite Avenger – both completely subjective yet still interchangeable. Yes?”

“But the metric to measure both is different,” Scott says. “You can judge a ‘best’ Avenger by, say, how many people they save? Or how many bad guys they arrest, perhaps.”

“Or how many pets they pull out of trees,” Sam says, “by which I, of course, am the best Avenger.”

“Exactly!” Scott says, which has the group rising with laughter. “While a ‘favorite’ Avenger is a personal thing.”

“Nah, I’m also my favorite,” Sam says. “Who’s yours, Cap? Since this is not a controversial question at all.”

“T’Challa,” Steve says. “Though the only controversy in that is if he counts as an Avenger.”

“I will take it!” T’Challa calls out, apparently close enough to participate in three conversations at once. He puts a hand his heart, while Shuri makes a face at her brother from behind him. “It’s much appreciated, Captain.”

“Clint’s fav is me,” Natasha says, while Clint laughs. “We know Tony’s favorite is Steve.”

“I cannot deny,” Tony says, his mouth coming to the rescue while his stomach flips at Natasha’s blatant statement. He lifts his fist, which Scott gamely reaches over to bump his own fist against. It’s all above board; there’s nothing to see here but Tony’s actual honest admiration for an actual honest hero.

But when Tony chances a look in Steve’s direction, Steve’s eyes have widened a little with surprise. That’s weird, because he _did_ hear what Tony said the other day to Peter, didn’t he? Unless Steve thought it was a joke. It does sound like the kind of joke Tony might make, at the expense of their shared history.

At least Steve knows it’s not a joke now.

“I like Thor,” Bruce says without being prompted. “I mean. Obviously?”

“Your bias is visible from space,” Tony says.

“I heard my name,” Thor announces, appearing behind Bruce and Tony’s double-seater. “Is there delicious gossip being shared about myself? What fantastic accomplishment have I made this time?”

“You’re Bruce’s favorite Avenger,” Natasha says.

“Ah, thank you, my kindly little ungreen friend,” Thor says. “You are, of course, _my_ favorite.”

“Actually, Tony,” Sam says, drawing Tony’s attention away from Thor and Bruce’s lovefest, “I thought Rhodey would be your fav.”

“You’re kidding me,” Rhodey says, appearing out of nowhere as he sometimes does. “I am not, and I accept this flaw in him.”

Tony senses it before it comes; his sixth sense warns of pebbles before the avalanche of Rhodey’s matter-of-fact charming delivery: “This guy, I swear to God, there was this one time he was in the hospital – it was after the thing with Stane, remember, Tony – where the only thing that’d make him get up was reading the latest news on whatever Cap was doing out on the Kree frontlines. He is _that_ much of a fan.”

“I stand by this!” Tony shouts quickly. The others, not knowing any better, coo and laugh at the careless anecdote. “I was into Cap before he was the coolest!”

“Pistols at dawn?” Scott says, bobbing his fists in the air playfully. “To be Cap’s number one in-house fan?”

Steve, however, looks rattled. Tony catches it through the energy of the crisscrossing conservations, and his stomach sinks. Steve makes an excellent attempt to mask his upset as sheepish embarrassment at being the center of attention, but Tony can tell.

Tony rises to the occasion. He lobs the conversation in another direction, asking how on earth there can be so many favs mentioned so far and Carol is not named at all? This prompts Rhodey and Natasha to rise to Carol’s defense, not that she needs any but it’s the principle of the thing. It works, and attention immediately shifts away from Steve, who’s busied himself with taking a slow drink from his plastic cup.

Steve’s eyes meet Tony’s across the open space. Tony flashes a smile that’s at once cheerful and apologetic, and wills Steve to ignore the context he and Rhodey know but the others don’t, i.e. that Tony wasn’t in the hospital for something mild like a cold, but because he’d been smashed up inside the proto-War Machine suit that had to be literally sawed off of him. He’d had weeks of recovery with very little to get up for, because Pepper and Happy were dead, and SI was in disarray beyond what Rhodey could help salvage.

 _Bright side,_ Tony tries to think at Steve. _Old news, no big deal._

News of Steve’s accomplishments kept Tony going, and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Steve works to inspire people, and he’d done exactly that for Tony. After all, if Steve could face near-impossible odds in defending the downtrodden, then surely Tony could make the effort into getting better, physical therapy and all, and eventually find some new less-destructive course to take in the world. Rhodey was on-hand to complete that cycle, by convincing Tony that his suits weren’t death traps and that he’d prove it himself by becoming War Machine.

It all worked out, _and_ it was so long ago. There’s no reason for Steve to be upset, aside from his hero complex.

Though if he’s just bothered by the revelation that Tony followed Steve’s career after they broke up, then… well. Tony’s not gonna apologize for that.

The conversation around them continues, but most of Tony’s attention is on Steve, who mumbles something to Sam and moves away. Tony watches him, dismayed and distressed, before tilting his head back to glare at Rhodey.

But Rhodey just shrugs.

“Getting a drink,” Tony says as he wrestles his way out of the cozy cocoon of Bruce’s chair. “You want anything?”

“I’m good, thank you,” Bruce says.

Tony winds his way through the crowd for the drinks table. He gets a cup and fills it with something fizzy and purple, and all the while scans for Steve. It would be a massive pile of suck if he ruined this thing as soon as they tentatively got it back together, so he would rather if that didn’t happen.

Drink in hand, Tony moves away from the table, still searching. So focused is he on finding a blond tower in a tight black shirt that he’s startled when a non-blond tower also in black suddenly cuts into his path.

Tony looks up. “Jesus fuck, where’d you come from.”

“I’ve been here all night,” Bucky says.

“No doubt. Hey!” Tony flails when Bucky plucks the cup out from Tony’s hand and drinks from it, getting Barnes cooties over everything. Tony sighs. “Great. Wonderful. You seen Steve?”

Bucky’s wearing a ponytail, but he still gives the impression of squinting through a curtain of hair as he looks around. “Somewhere.”

“Find him, would you? I think he’s, uh—”

“What’d you do now?”

“For once, not me,” Tony says, though he’s only half sure about that. “It was Rhodey. Just, just…”

Bucky walks away without letting Tony finish, which is just as well. Tony gets another cup and returns to the sitting area where, unfortunately, Thor has taken his spot next to Bruce on the two-seater.

Tony perches on the couch’s hand-rest for a minute or so, but finds himself too restless to stay. If he did something to upset Steve, he’d rather deal with it before it festers with everything else. Sure, he could be anxious about nothing, but he knows he didn’t imagine the disquiet on Steve’s face.

He gets up again and makes another circuit of the floor. He gets stopped here and there by conversation, but finally spots Steve and Bucky – they’re out on one of the balconies, the glass door separating them from the party.

Tony tucks himself by the wall so the pair don’t see him, but they seem to be in deep conversation regardless. Or at least, Bucky is talking and Steve is listening, though Steve is also tapping away furiously on his cellphone. Is Bucky dictating something? It seems so at first, but then Steve suddenly frowns and snaps a hand up, putting a warning finger in Bucky’s face.

Bucky lifts both hands in a surrender gesture, and then slouches against the railing behind them. A couple of seconds later Bucky leans over to try to read the screen of Steve’s phone, but Steve just puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and carefully pushes him away.

Whatever the hell it is they’re doing, Tony obviously can’t interrupt. He’s going to have to talk to Steve later, or trust that Bucky’s got his best friend covered.

Tony goes back to the party.

There’s more food, more conversation, more breaking up of fights as when Clint keeps losing to Thor and Hope’s tag-teaming him in Mario Party. At some point the kids (and Scott) escape en masse for one of the empty Quinjet pads outside, where it sounds like Peter and Shuri are putting each other’s tech through their paces while the others scream and egg them on.

When Steve finally returns to the scene, Tony’s sprawled on the couch with one leg over Natasha’s lap, only half-listening to the conversation happening around him.

Steve strolls in without fanfare. He comes up to lean against the back of the couch, one hand in his pocket and the other still holding his cellphone.

“I’m just saying!” Rhodey is saying nearby. “If you have enough Pym Particles—”

“That don’t collapse into a singularity,” Hope says.

“—then you can gigantisize the hammer,” Rhodey says. “So all I’m asking is: is Earth worthy?”

“That is not how it works,” Thor says.

“Do you know?” Rhodey counters. “Do you _know_?”

Steve doesn’t seem as enamored of the conversation as the others are. In fact, he barely seems to be listening in at all, because he turns away and looks down at the couch. At Tony.

Tony blinks up in surprise. “Hi,” he says, though it’s noisy enough in here that the sound barely travels.

Steve nods stiffly. His easy friendliness of earlier is gone, but for some reason this doesn’t fill Tony with alarm. Instead Tony is curious, and eager to understand the strange impatience in Steve’s face. But there’s little understanding at all here, because instead of saying anything, Steve merely taps a button on his phone with his thumb, and leaves.

Okay then. Tony turns away from the Steve-shaped empty space, and back to where Clint’s now getting his Mario Party ass kicked by Natasha and Bruce.

The faint sound of someone clearing their throat makes Tony look up again.

Because Steve’s back, and has a hand over his mouth as he does the throat-clearing. He’s taken his phone out again, too, and flips it over a few times in his free hand.

Steve’s being weird, but it does remind Tony that he hasn’t checked his phone in a while. Tony pats at his jacket in search of it, though by the time he pulls it out, Steve’s gone again. Tony lights up the screen and, oh hey, there’s a message from Steve. Maybe that’s what that was all about.

Tony taps to open the message.

There’s a long screed of a message in there. It’s so long that Tony’s eyes immediately glaze over, but he makes himself focus and go back up to the top, bracing himself for some micro-managing work-related memo of doom.

“ _Tony_ ,” it starts, “ _this might be forward and too much at once, but I’m afraid that if I don’t get this out now, I might never will. You apologized the other day for saying things you didn’t mean and avoiding the truth, but I was so caught on my own anger and hurt that I missed the chance to do the same right then & there. I said things to deliberately hurt you, too, calling you things I knew were wrong & based on assumptions the world long ago decided about you. I also avoided admitting the truth, which I now realize you don’t know, because what has been so obvious to me wasn’t for you. Back then you were afraid of losing me, but I was just as afraid of losing you. You are so strong, so smart, already running a company from a young age and in the thick of high-stakes circles. I know we clicked & I know we cared about each other, but I could never stop questioning myself on what I brought into what I felt was an imbalanced relationship. What could I offer you? I was always going to enlist, but a part of that drive came from my wanting to be your equal, a true partner, and a hope you’d need me the way that I needed you. When you turned me down using those old tactics, it seemed to confirm that imbalance, and that you would bounce back from our relationship far easier than I ever would. But now I’ve come home & all I can see is my failure because despite all my promises I wasn’t there when you needed me the most. I failed you and I failed us, and the worst of it is that it doesn’t even seem to occur to you to blame me for it. I’d convinced myself that after we broke up you wouldn’t spare a single thought for me, but now I know I was wrong about that, too. How is it that you can look at me at all, let alone call me a hero? YOUR hero? I don’t know if any of this makes sense but I’m trying to say that I still have feelings for you and, if I wasn’t there for you back then, I’d like to be here for you now. If you’re interested in anything at all, please come up to the roof. I’m getting some fresh air.”_

Tony puts his phone down, takes it back up, and puts it back down. He stares at the vague shape of Natasha, picks up his phone again, and switches over to a browser to find pictures of cute puppies.

The message doesn’t feel quite real. He must’ve hallucinated it. Tony goes back to check, but nope, it’s still there and was indeed sent from Steve’s number.

What is Steve even smoking? He didn’t fail Tony. Tony’s the one who pushed Steve away, and everything that happened afterward was Tony’s own doing. Steve has the most bizarre sense of responsibility, and Tony should probably… go and see him… and set him straight.

Or maybe Tony could actually focus on the tail end of Steve’s message. Try as he might, Tony can’t wriggle his thoughts into interpreting that as platonic, which in turns paints the rest of the message towards that particular agenda. Steve’s intent is right there.

Tony pushes himself off the cushions. “I’m going to… bye.”

Natasha or Clint may say something to him as he goes, but Tony doesn’t hear it, being too busy winding his way through the obstacle course of human bodies until he reaches the elevator.

Tony makes it all the way to the building’s flat roof before he realizes that he has no idea what he’s going to do. Steve’s message was an invitation, but it was also a question, and Tony doesn’t have an answer.

Even when Tony spots Steve standing out there in the open, hands in his pockets and his back to Tony, the answer still doesn’t materialize.

Steve turns. He clearly knows it’s Tony who’s come up before he even sees him, but there’s still a flash of surprised panic on his face as if he, too, has no fucking clue how this is going to go.

Tony makes a valiant attempt to breathe. He also thinks about the message, and what it must have cost Steve to compose and send it. But it’s _so hard_ to understand that, because Tony hasn’t even finished processing Steve’s not being mad at him and maybe wanting to be his friend again. Steve cannot possibly have _feelings_ for Tony, not after everything.

But Tony owes it to Steve to believe him, doesn’t he? Their side-stepping the truth is what got them into trouble in the first place.

Steve’s told the truth, so now it’s Tony’s turn to do the same.

“Oh god,” Tony blurts out, clumsy and breathless, “I miss you _so much_.”

“Oh!” Steve seems to see that Tony’s freaking out and comes a-sprinting, chanting an under-the-breath, “Okay, okay, okay, okay,” at each footstep that closes the distance between them.

Then Steve hauls Tony into a hug, where all those muscles squeeze tight around him and _holy shit_. It’s a hell of a lot happening at once – warmth and solid comforting pressure and the body smell that Tony’s neurons seem to light up in recognition of – that Tony needs a second to remember that he’s allowed to respond. A reasonable response would to be press his face against Steve’s neck and let himself be held, so he promptly does this. Tony brings his hands up, too – hesitant, but only at first – and wraps them around Steve’s back to hold on.

Tony’s pretty sure he’s not touch-starved but this is definitely the best kind of sensory overload. Just being pressed against the solid form of Steve makes Tony feel more like a real person, somehow.

It eventually trickles in that Steve’s overwhelmed, too. He’s babbling under his breath, the words getting past Tony’s ridiculously loud heartbeat: “Hey, hey, I’m here, it’s okay, thank you, thank you for coming, I just, thank you for letting me, this is so nice.” Steve says that last part with his face pressed against Tony’s, nose nuzzling by Tony’s temple.

Why the hell is _Steve_ saying thank you? Tony makes a protesting sound and tilts his head back to look into Steve’s face.

“Oh no,” Steve says quietly. He brings a hand up to Tony’s face, knuckles brushing the cheek that Tony realizes just then is slightly damp. Steve’s face twists, and his voice comes out hoarse, “Tony, I’m sorry, I didn’t… I should have…” He makes a sound, seemingly unable to find the word that he needs.

Tony swallows. His heart feels like it’s in his goddamned throat. “This is weird.”

“Weird… how?”

“You’re taller than me now.”

That cracks a smile out of Steve, though his eyes are still solemn. “Part of the package, I’m afraid.”

Tony loosens his hands from their grip around Steve’s back, and bring them up to Steve’s face. He touches the new jaw, thumbs following the strong shape from chin to hinge, then up to his cheekbones. Steve’s eyes flutter at the touch, and his mouth falls open a little in surprise. It’s still Steve, the way that Tony is still Tony but greyer. That is Steve’s mouth, and those are Steve’s eyes, which are no longer unreadable but now show the full anguish of his being here.

“You miss me, too, right?” Tony says.

Steve laughs wetly, his eyes suspiciously bright, and kisses him. It starts an open-mouthed mashing together, clumsy for a hot second until Tony gets his arms around Steve’s shoulders and goes for it. Shared, sudden desperation destroys the awkwardness to nothing, and then they’re kissing and kissing and grabbing at each other as if there’s too much they want to touch and not enough hands for it all.

Someone moans, someone says, “Oh my god” and Steve’s hands dig into Tony’s waist and at one point lift him clear off the ground. Steve kisses Tony as if he’s starving for it, pressing again and again and licking deep into Tony’s mouth, barely giving either of them space to breathe.

Tony’s whole body feels alight. He feels high, catapulted into a dreamlike stratosphere where he feels like he could kiss Steve forever. He clings onto Steve, a half-baked attempt to climb him like a tree, though it just succeeds in getting him to lose his balance and for Steve to catch him again, and steady him with both hands on his back.

The kissing pauses for a delayed catching of breath, but Steve stays where he is, dragging his lips back and forth across Tony’s facial hair. “So much. I missed you so much. I really tried to forget you, and I _thought_ I did, but then – then here you are and you’re so…”

“Steve.” Tony speaks right there into the warm space by Steve’s jaw. Still wrapped around onto Steve’s shoulders, Tony effectively has both their faces tucked together in the cave of his arms. “You didn’t fail anyone, okay? You hear me?”

Steve laughs then, soft and miserable. “What’s the point of doing any of this – of _becoming_ this—” he brings his shoulders up, drawing attention to their post-serum wideness, “if I can’t protect the people I care about? It doesn’t matter that we weren’t together anymore – even if you _hated_ the sight of me, I should’ve gone to you.”

“No, no, you can’t think like that.” Tony digs his fingers into the back of Steve’s his head, pulling him in for another open-mouthed kiss that Steve takes with an eager gasp. “If you don’t want me to fixate on ‘should haves’, then you can’t either, okay?”

Steve hums against Tony’s cheek, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“The point is,” Tony presses on, “I had you with me the whole time. The _whole_ time, whenever it got bad. Because that’s what missing you means.” He kisses Steve again, but quicker this time, so he can get back to talking. “Did you really think I didn’t need you? Fucking Stane knew. Why’d you think he couldn’t stand you? It was harder for him to manipulate me when you were around.”

“I know, I get it now,” Steve says, nodding frantically.

“But that’s on me, too. I should’ve – I could’ve shown you better, how much you meant to me. Just ‘cause I wasn’t ready to marry you then, that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to be with you anymore.”

“I know, I know.” Steve’s breathing calms, and he noses his way back across Tony’s face, in order to find Tony’s lips again and resume kissing.

It’s slower this time. The urgency is still there, but now they’re savoring the way their mouths slot together, their breaths bringing warm air between their lips.

“Sometimes,” Steve pauses to catch his breath, “sometimes I wouldn’t think about you for ages, for months or even years, and then suddenly there’d be something – some piece of fancy tech, or I’d see someone in goggles and a tank top – and I’d wonder what you’re doing. But I didn’t want to actually _know_ , because of course you were – of course you’d moved on, you’d found someone who understands you better, and I didn’t want to know who that could be.”

“I’m a member of, like, five of your fan clubs,” Tony says. “Mostly for the news, but not in a stalkery way, I promise! It just felt good to know you’re out there.”

“I miss being able to talk to you about everything and nothing. It was so easy, I don’t – I still don’t get how you were never bored.”

“Uh, because you’re awesome and interesting and funny? And the way you view the world is amazing?”

“The way _I_ view the world? I’m out there chasing fight after fight so I don’t have to think about how I don’t have anything to come home to.”

“Okay, that is so not true that it’s turned into bald-faced lie.”

“All right, sure, but it still felt that way sometimes because I knew what I’d let go.”

“You didn’t let go of anything, I’m the one who pushed you away.”

Steve shakes his head, and comes back to rest his forehead to Tony’s. Their noses brush, light and intimate, while Steve gathers his breath. “You’re just thinking about our last fight. There’s everything else before that, Tony. Everything you gave me. All the inspiration by just being yourself, that made me feel _I_ could be myself.”

Tony is so ready to keep arguing, but is cut off by a firecracker-like explosion down below. He turns to look, but Steve’s hands tighten on his back.

“It’s just Carol showing off for the kids,” Steve says.

“Ah, so we’re at that point already.” Tony tilts his chin up on more time, to take another slow kiss from the plush give of Steve’s mouth. “We should probably go back in.”

“I don’t want to go back to the party. I just… Can I just be with you? Can we go somewhere and talk?”

Tony stares up at Steve, awed that the poker face is gone, leaving just Steve ( _his_ Steve) with all of his familiar, quiet eagerness. Steve isn’t loud and expressive the way Tony is, but to truly see him is to acknowledge the depth of his feelings, and to recognize the honesty in his seemingly subdued actions and words.

There’s still a dream-like quality to this moment, but Tony doubts that even his imagination would be brave enough to conjure Steve this way: forgiving and achingly gentle and anxious for Tony to not go anywhere.

“Yeah,” Tony says, nodding. “I want that, too.”

Steve thanks Tony with another searing kiss that takes Tony’s breath away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hackedmotionsensors did fanart of a scene from this chapter, [over on tumblr](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/635855545914523648/hackedmotionsensors-from-annies-persuasion-fic)! OH boy ♥


	10. Chapter 10

They hold hands as they head back into the building.

Steve leads the way to his room, and during the whole walk over Tony can’t stop touching Steve, which this is fine because Steve’s pretty much the same. Tony keeps leaning against Steve and resting his head against Steve’s chest or shoulder, while Steve keeps touching Tony’s face and stroking his neck. The nearness feels important, as is the unspoken mutual agreement that they both need it.

Steve’s room is nice, spacious and neat, with very little clutter. It does occur to Tony that sex might be on the table, but he’s not up for that yet, and Steve seems far more excited about asking what Tony’s been up to (“You’ve read my file—” “That’s what happened _to_ you. I want to know about you.”) and happily answering the million and one questions Tony has about what Steve’s seen and done.

They pile all the room’s pillows and cushions into a nest on Steve’s bed and make themselves comfortable in the middle of it. Tucked up against one another, they talk, and laugh, and occasionally stay quiet and just hold each other, all the way through the night until the party downstairs dies down.

There’s so much to cover. Tony tells Steve about his upgrades to the Malibu house, the new fixtures he’s given the bots, how JARVIS led to the development of FRIDAY. Steve tells Tony about accidentally breaking things when he first got the serum, embarrassing culture clash incidents he’s had in space, and how the threw up the first time he was in a multi-jump. Tony gives Steve a glimpse of the arc reactor and kisses the awful scowl off Steve’s face, and follows up by making sure that Steve doesn’t only know the less fun things – Tony shares SI’s successful projects, the joy in bringing Maria Rambeau into the team, the pride he’s had in watching Rhodey become a phenomenon.

They don’t just talk of the past, either. There’s the present and tentative pokes at the future – Steve wants to take Tony out, and Tony is very game and reiterates his regret that Steve ever thought he wanted to keep their relationship a secret out of shame. (“I never thought you were embarrassed of me,” Steve tells him, “just uncertain of how to control the public narrative, since I wasn’t your usual type.” Tony replies: “It’s part that, but I think I also didn’t want to scare you off by bringing that kind of attention down on your head.”)

It’s one o’clock, then two, then almost three when Steve jolts with a guilty start.

“Oh geez, it’s late,” Steve says.

“Meh.” Tony shrugs. “Sleep cycles are a social construct.”

“Did you choose all those words randomly?”

“Why, is that a side-effect of so-called sleep deprivation?” Tony’s half-lying on top of Steve and feels the sudden stiffness in him. But Tony really doesn’t want to leave, so he digs his fingers into Steve’s shirt. “You mind if I sleep over? Just sleep, that’s all.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” Steve makes no to hide how pleased he is at the request. “I’ll get you a toothbrush.”

There is a little tension in the room when they undress to their shorts and undershirts, but that’s less important than Tony’s need to be near Steve. He’s tired and kinda does want to go to sleep, but doesn’t want to give up being with Steve just to do that.

“Which side…?” Tony says.

“Anywhere’s fine.”

Tony takes the left side, out of habit. They make themselves comfortable under the covers, and although there’s a moment where they’re both unsure how much space they should leave between them, it’s broken when Tony, lying mostly on his stomach, worms his way to the mattress’ midway point so he can press an ankle against Steve’s.

Tony closes his eyes, and he feels Steve relax, too.

+

It would be nice to report that Tony then has the best sleep he’s had in ages, but no, it’s merely mediocre. Tony wakes up a few times, confused by the strange bed and startling himself at the realization that that’s actually Steve nearby and not a dream.

It makes for restless slumber all the way to dawn when Tony’s woken up again, this time not by his own brain, but by the sound of running water.

Tony’s cracks open an eye. Through the groggy fog of half-lucidity, he watches Steve pad out of the bathroom, barefoot and bare-chested like an all-American equivalent of a fae distraction to lure unsuspecting travelers (i.e. Tony) to their doom. Tony also has a half-woozy thought that Steve might be showing off, but that can’t be right.

“A-muh-go-whuh?” Tony says.

Steve sits down and scoots back into the bed’s warm spot. “You want to try that again?”

Tony smacks his lips. “Are you going running?”

“Not today.” Steve pushes his fingers into Tony’s hair, digging gently through the twisted strands.

Tony sighs and shimmies closer until he can press his face into the strong, warm muscle of Steve’s thigh. “Okay.”

“You know that I run?” When Tony murmurs an affirmative, Steve adds, “You’ve watched me run?”

Tony hums. “Just happy to get to see you.”

Steve’s hand stills. Tony thinks he hears an intake of breath, and then Steve carefully lies back down on the bed, navigating the covers and Tony’s limbs so that he can draw Tony into the very cozy circle of his arms.

Resting on Steve’s chest is different, but nice. Tony wonders if he could stay here for the whole day, or maybe the next week, at least. Tony can’t see Steve’s face from this angle, but there is a vast expanse of skin, with a smattering of chest hair dead center between his pecs. Tony lazily lifts one hand and pokes at one of said pecs.

“Morning to you, too,” Steve says, his whole chest rumbling under Tony’s cheek.

“Not as squishy as it looks,” Tony says.

“You are, though.”

“Mmm, what?”

“Squishy.” Steve’s grip tightens and releases carefully, as though Tony is an expensive full-body pillow (which he kinda is). “It’s nice. I mean, it’s _different_ , to be able to hold you like this? Different and nice.”

“Squishy and old, that’s me.”

“Ah. Oh.” Tony feels a slight poking pressure at the top of his skull, which he parses as Steve resting his chin there. “You heard what I said about you, is that it?”

“S’okay. I am.”

“No, it’s not okay. Tony? I’m not excusing it.” Steve’s fingers brush Tony’s ear, as though to make sure that he’s listening. “I come here, I see you for the first time in years, and I’m bracing for a fight. Because it’s us, right? So I’d psyched myself up, I’m ready, I’m going to make this Avengers project work whatever it takes and you…” He sighs. “I thought you’d make the first move. You’re _you_ , so of course you’d send the first punch, set the tone, let me know what’s what. But I get nothing. You’re just… there, and then you _leave,_ and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what the rules are. Then someone mentioned you and I panicked, just said the first thing that came into my head and it – it came out wrong, like a joke. It’s true that I couldn’t recognize you, and that you’re old _er_ – but the two separate things became one thing.”

“Mm, okay.”

Steve tickles at Tony’s earlobe. “Okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. I know all about saying stuff you don’t really mean.” Tony rubs his face against Steve’s chest. “And you kept poking me with your hard-on last night, so I know that I still do it for you.”

“Ah,” Steve says neutrally.

“Did you jack off in the bathroom just now? ‘Cause that’d be hot, too.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Even if I want to be flattered? I mean, I totally whacked one out for you before coming over to the party last night.”

“Oh,” Steve says, voice small. “You mean… right before?”

“Yeah, I’m efficient.” Tony taps his fingers on Steve’s chest. “You getting hard again?”

Steve doesn’t deny it, but he does laugh. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Your eyes are barely open, Tony.”

“Because someone is being a Chatty Cathy. That’s not a complaint, by the way.”

“Sorry, it’s just nice that I can finally …” Steve pauses, which prompts Tony to raise his head and squint at Steve’s face. There’s sheepishness there, which is all sorts of charming. “You know something’s wrong when you’re jealous of a kid.”

“What kid?”

“Peter,” Steve says with a wince. “I couldn’t get two words out of you even when I tried, but Peter comes along and it’s… Pretty clear that it’s not you, it’s just me.”

“You cannot possibly have wanted to chat me up yet.”

“No, not consciously. But I wanted something. Some reaction out of you.”

“You are a very mature human being.” Tony sighs. “Okay, I definitely can’t go back to sleep. What time is it?”

“You want breakfast?”

“Yeah, okay.”

They get up. Tony goes through the motions of brushing his teeth, washing his face and putting on the clothes Steve gives him without thinking too much. When he finally rocks up onto his feet and sways a little, Steve’s right there to hug him from behind and steady him – both as a solid presence, and with the kiss he drops at Tony’s temple.

“You are very handsome, and you do it for me very much,” Steve whispers. “It’s a distraction I appreciate a great deal.”

“Thanks,” Tony says. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

They make their way outside to the living quarters’ shared pantry, Steve in the lead. Tony’s far from fully awake, so he follows obligingly, takes the seat Steve shows him, and nods at Bruce and Natasha who are already at the table eating their own breakfasts. There’s waiting time, but it’s not long, and Tony can’t complain Steve’s thoughtfulness of setting a plate of toast and full cup of fresh-brewed coffee in front of Tony.

Tony ignores the toast but takes a careful sip of the coffee. It’s not bad, so he murmurs his approval while Steve’s runs a hand through Tony’s hair.

“How about clean-up, though?” Bruce says.

“I’m not going down there before anyone else,” Natasha says. “If we do it, we all start at the same time.”

“But things might be… congealing,” Bruce says. Behind him, Sam and Hope come up via the stairs, both in their morning run outfits.

“What’s congealing?” Sam says.

“Party mess,” Natasha says.

“How much you want to bet Clint’s not getting up until he thinks we’ve cleaned most of it up first,” Sam says.

“Cleaning up isn’t a punishment,” Steve says firmly. “I’ll go down after breakfast.”

“You can make it an order,” Hope says. “Hi, Tony.”

“Hi,” Tony says.

“I’m not ordering people to clean up,” Steve says.

“What if we clean up,” Bruce says, “and put all the garbage outside Clint’s room so he has to carry it down?”

“Why is no one picking on Thor?” Sam says. “We should pick on Thor.”

“I think he went to see Jane,” Natasha says. “He had a talk with Carol that made him miss her, so he might’ve just flown out first thing.”

“Or maybe he just hates cleaning up,” Bruce says.

Tony’s mug is half empty when the coffee finally kicks in. He finally fully registers where he is, what he’s doing, and the fact that he’s wearing Steve’s clothes in front of his colleagues. While the others keep talking, Tony slowly turns to Steve, who seems to be paying absolutely no attention to anything that isn’t the newspaper in front of him.

When Tony turns back, Natasha’s smiling at him over her half-eaten apricot. “Your toast’s getting cold,” she says.

“This is not what it looks like,” Tony says.

“I’m not judging.” Sam gestures at them with his open bottle of Gatorade. “Well, I’m not judging _you_. I’m judging the dude sitting next to you.”

“For what,” Tony says, “sleeping with a groupie?”

Steve’s hand comes into Tony’s view and takes Tony’s mug.

“No, no, hey!” Tony grabs at air, but Steve leans away, keeping the mug out of reach. “I am not saying that you need to sleep with Scott next, but you should probably brace yourself for him asking—” Tony gasps when Steve brings the mug to his own lips. “I’m sorry, I take it back! Bad joke.”

“It is,” Steve agrees.

“ _That’s_ what I’m judging you for,” Sam says. “Can’t even woo your man without making a production out of it?”

“He likes it,” Steve says.

“I do.” Tony flushes and kicks at Steve underneath the table, not that Steve has the decency to react in any way. “It’s… Yeah.”

“Tony and I used to date, a long time ago,” Steve says, simple as anything. Tony’s heart leaps in reflexive terror, but it passes quickly. The statement is true and it’s out there. It is a piece of history that they’re still dealing with, but this right here is actively dealing with it.

“Wow, really?” Bruce says. “Tony, you never said anything.”

“Tony? _Steve_ didn’t say anything,” Hope says, accusatory but smiling.

“It ended badly.” Tony shrugs. “We’re gonna do better this time.”

Steve returns Tony’s mug to him, and bumps his knee against Tony’s. “Yes, we are.”

“Cool,” Natasha says, while the others chime in agreements of their own. Validation isn’t necessary, but it feels nice.

It feels really nice. As if Steve being with Tony, and wanting Tony, really does make sense.

By the counter, Sam puts his hand over Hope’s phone, which she’s pulled out from her back pocket. “C’mon, don’t message Scott.”

“Why not?” Hope says.

“Because that’s just mean?” Sam says.

“ _Oh_!” Bruce says, smacking the table. “Is this why Rhodey and Bucky got into that slapping match yesterday? Because that would make sense.”

“No, it does not make sense,” Natasha scoffs, while Steve says, “What slapping match?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam says airily. “I helped them break into the extra special liquor cabinet to distract them. They’re probably sleeping it off somewhere.”

“That is not how I would’ve handled that,” Steve says.

“Well, you’re _not_ me.” Sam rolls his eyes when Steve just frowns. “Fine. I’ll find them. Bruce, you’re coming with.”

“What, why?” Bruce says.

“Because you brought it up in front of Cap,” Sam grabs the back of Bruce’s shirt and hauls him up. “Let’s go.”

“I should probably…” Steve starts to get up to join them, but looks back, sees Tony, and sits back down. “Knowing how to delegate is an important aspect of leadership.”

“In my day,” Tony says, “we called it handing off all the boring shit.”

Steve makes a face. “I was going to take today off, but now I’m having second thoughts.”

“That’s fine.” Feeling daring, Tony leans over until he can rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll just… go back to my workshop… and be by myself.”

“Eat your breakfast, Tony,” Steve says, firm and business-like, as if he isn’t thinking about Tony touching himself, or them touching each other, or maybe even something more specific involving Tony’s workshop benches. Tony doesn’t need to know the details right this instant, because he’ll wheedle them out of Steve later, and Steve will let him.

It's going to be a long day ahead of them, and the first day of the rest of their lives. The dream-like quality of yesterday has been replaced by the sharp glare of reality, and is all the more exciting for it. Here’s an impossible second chance, practically gift-wrapped and shoved at them, and although a part of Tony wants to be wary and study it and find the catch, the rest of him just wants Steve.

Tony still loves him. Not a little, as he’d convinced himself, but a hell of a lot, and it should’ve – would’ve – been terrifying if he’d realized this earlier. Sure, it’s still scary to realize it now, but it’s a good kind of scary, because he doesn’t have to work through it alone.

Steve’s right here, and he’s smiling at Tony, for Tony, because of Tony. With a gift like that, Tony can do anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and [tumblr post](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/190624628596/its-done-and-posted-half-agony-half-hope)!


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